In Plain Sight
by Mardy Lass
Summary: An old friend needs some legal representation from Nelson and Murdock, but perhaps the others in the case are the ones you need to watch. Set after season 1, so contains spoilery references. Rated T for some evil intent, a bit of blood, bad guys, alley ways, some bodily damage and hurt/comfort, and of course some good old fashioned fisticuffs. Episodicly canontastic.
1. Blow to the Head

**ONE**

Blow to the head

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 ** _Author's Note:_**

 _This is set after 1x13. Spoilery references are made to pretty much the entire first season._

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"You do realise that you're a real, actual super-powered dude - hearing stuff from blocks away, sensing vibrations and whatever," Foggy whispered over the monitor of his laptop.

Matt's hands continued to whisk to and fro across the paper file under his fingertips. "Not from blocks away, Foggy," he replied quietly. "Just the next room or so."

"Well it's still amazing." He paused. "Wait - does this mean you can hear what I'm saying on the phone in my office?"

Matt smiled. "Always."

"Ah great… So I guess you know how it's going with Marci then?"

"More than I care to."

"Can you smell stuff too? Like a shark - can you smell a drop of blood from three miles?"

Matt's hands came away from the file, just as willing to give up on work as the rest of him. "Not quite. Maybe thirty yards."

"But that's awesome!" Foggy cried. "I wish I could do that."

"You _want_ to smell blood from miles away?"

"No, man! But that superpower is amazing!"

"It's not a superpower. And it's not that great. I mean, it's _blood_. And I'm normally in a position to smell more of it than other people."

"But you can smell other things too, right? Like flowers?"

"Yes."

Foggy pushed the top of the laptop down to lean over it, as if reducing the distance between them across the table would somehow make it more secret. "Can you smell blood right now? Like… is something bad going down?"

Matt's head tilted for a moment as he lost his smile. "I can smell it, yes."

Foggy sat back. "Eyiuuu. You're right. I don't wish I could smell like you do."

The door to the rather small office opened and Karen walked in. "Hey. I've got all those—" The manilla file in her hand suddenly took it upon itself to leap from its resting place against her arm and spread its contents over the floor.

Foggy looked round, surprised, but instead of the expected display of apology, he was saddened to see the way Karen simply sagged and watched the papers settle. He got up quickly, sliding the papers toward him to begin scooping them up.

"I'm sorry," she sighed.

"No problem," he said brightly. "I like my files in random order. It makes the day more fun."

She made a conscious effort to straighten her back. Matt's head tilted toward her slightly. His nose barely twitched, his chin barely moved, but the way his head tilted up and then away from them would have spoken volumes on respecting people's privacy, had anyone seen it.

Karen pushed her hair behind her ears and crouched, picking up sheets of paper. "I'm so clumsy today. Struggling a bit, I think."

"Are you ok?" Matt asked.

"Just... Didn't sleep well," she said quietly.

"I thought we'd all given up the constant binge-drinking now Fisk is in custody?" Foggy smiled.

"No, it's—. Well it's my air con. It's broken in my bedroom and the landlord is not being very agreeable about fixing it."

"It's not that hot yet," Matt said.

"Well it is in my apartment," she groused.

Foggy shrugged as he arranged papers in his hands. "Just get your landlord to fix it."

"I tried," Karen said as she rolled her eyes. "He's not being helpful."

Foggy frowned. "Is he being mean to you?"

"He's being a _dick_ ," she said with sudden vehemence.

Matt hid a smile but Foggy swallowed, choosing instead to simply pick up the files and wait for her to stand before he got up too.

"Tell him you work for a prestigious law firm and if he doesn't fix it, we'll sue his ass," he said firmly.

Karen smiled. "I might."

"And if that doesn't work… I know a guy," he added.

She grinned. "I might take you up on that too." She handed him the papers and walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

Foggy frowned as he put the folder on the desk. "Wow. She looked really tired. It can't be this whole Fisk thing, can it? I mean, he's been in jail for a week already. What do you think is really eating her?"

"I don't think you want to know," Matt warned.

"Of course I do - we're friends. We find out what's wrong and we try to help."

Matt shook his head dismissively. "I don't think you _can_ help. Not with that."

"With what? Did she tell you? She told _you_ and not me?"

Matt pushed his chair back and got up. "She didn't sleep well and she probably skipped breakfast. —You want to help? Get her a Danish. The one she likes. And don't hassle her about deadlines. She's well aware how long it takes to type things up and get them sent out to these new potential clients that we've suddenly attracted."

"Bringing Hoffman in certainly gave us free exposure."

Matt's left hand swept the surface of the desk until it encountered his phone. He picked it up and slid it into his pocket. "Just… leave her to get on with her work. Just for a while."

"Oh yeah? Till when?" Foggy asked.

"I'm not an expert, but I'd give it a week." He sniffed and his right hand went to the open file on the desk. He pushed the cover up and over to bring it closed. Picking it up, he reached for the briefcase on the table and pulled it closer to slide the file inside. He was just shutting the case and locking it with both thumbs as they heard the harsh haranguing of a telephone bell.

The two men froze. "Was that our phone?" Foggy whispered.

"It's _loud_ ," Matt said.

The door opened again and Karen grinned through the gap. "There's a woman on the line. She needs a lawyer. I told her there are two really amazing ones at her disposal."

"We have an actual client?" Foggy dared. "Like a real live person that came to us?"

Karen grinned. "Sounds like it."

Foggy punched both hands in the air. "Danishes all round!"

"Which one of you wants to talk to her? She sounds nice but she doesn't want me," Karen said.

Matt put a hand up. "I'll come to _your_ phone. She's probably not in the mood to listen to one of her really amazing lawyers do victory laps round the desk."

"You're the boss," Karen said. She disappeared from the doorway.

Foggy pulled his tie a little straighter than the lazy slouch it had been in since nine that morning. "A client! Go get her, you silver-tongued devil!" he chuckled. "Oh! Uh… I mean…"

"Just - try to come across less excited. You sound like a five-year-old who just met Iron Man in the street."

"That _would_ be awesome," Foggy mused to himself.

Matt shook his head and trailed his hand against the wall, leaving the room as fast as he dared to get to Karen's desk.

"Here," she said, her hand reaching for him. She captured his wrist and put the phone receiver into his palm.

"Thanks." He put it to his ear. "Matt Murdock of Nelson and Murdock," he said firmly. "How can I help you?"

"Oh… uh… _hi_ ," said a rueful voice. "This is awkward, man-I-am-not-supposed-to-know-professionally."

Karen watched Matt's face go slack in surprise. He appeared to pull himself together, albeit with a tiny hint of colour in his cheeks. "You're back in New York?"

"You know what they say - you can take the girl out of New York, and all that."

"Are you ok?"

"Would I be looking for a lawyer if I were?" she sighed. "So, Mr Murdock, Attorney at Law… How do we do this?"

Karen watched Matt's mouth flounder. She frowned and folded her arms, intrigued.

The voice on the phone waited. And waited. Eventually it spoke up: "Matt… I really need representation. Are you available? —As an attorney, I mean?"

Matt let the phone down to press it into his shirt. His head turned toward the meeting room door. "Foggy!" he called. "Get your notebook! Do it now!"

There was a knock and a bang, and Foggy appeared in the doorway. "You scared me, man! Where's the fire?"

Karen looked across the office and Foggy shrugged at her.

Matt put the phone back to his ear. "Where are you calling from?"

"Uh… the police station," she said carefully. "Honestly - this cop here gave me a number and told me to call it if I wanted my own lawyer. I had no idea _who_ I was calling."

"Stay there. We'll come to you."

"You better," she said. "You kinda owe me."

He heard the line click and turned toward the sound of Karen shifting papers on her desk. He held the phone out and she took it from him, placing it firmly back in its cradle.

"Is this going to be good?" Foggy asked as he checked his pockets for pens, pencils and the ubiquitous notebook.

"Get me my jacket," Matt said shortly. "We're going to the police station."

Karen and Foggy exchanged a glance, but he did go back into the office and slide Matt's suit jacket from the back of the chair. He twirled but caught sight of the white stick leaning in the corner of the room. He snatched it up and came barrelling back out to find Matt already at the front door.

"Hey," he said, tapping the cane against the floor a few times. He waited for Matt to turn back to him. "Slow down, buddy. Whoever it is will still be in custody when we get there."

Matt simply held his hand out. Foggy hung the jacket over his palm, but as Matt pulled it on, Foggy looked over his shoulder at Karen with helpless confusion.

 _I know, right?_ she mouthed back at him.

He put his hand out and took Matt's sleeve, putting the cane in his hand. "Are you going to tell me who we're racing across town to see?"

"Someone who needs our expert help," Matt said. He opened the door and whisked out so fast Foggy just blinked, completely befuddled.

"Go!" Karen hissed at him. "And then text me what this is all about."

Foggy saluted smartly with his right hand before he swirled out the door and closed it behind him.

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* * *

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The 15th Precinct police station on West 54th Street was the same grey stone, the same incongruous wooden doors, the same air of resigned optimism. It was also intrigued to watch two men hurry up to its entrance and barrel through as if late for a ball game.

"Just a _hint_ , man, come on!" Foggy urged as he trailed along behind Matt. "Who are we here to see?"

Matt wasn't so much tapping his cane in front of him as battering his way through the reception area to get to the booking desk. He fairly squeaked to a stop before he smacked a knee into the wood. "Booking officer, please?" he asked politely, turning his face up to where the sound of surprised breathing was coming from.

The rather older woman behind the high desk put her elbows to it and leant down a little. "Hey, Murdock. What can _I_ do for _you?_ "

He smiled. "Officer Williams. How are you today?"

"I told you, boy, you call me Ashanti if you want something," she grinned. She pushed a hand through her hair to make it sit behind her ear. "Now then, try again."

"Then… Ashanti," he said, his head tilting down slightly in amusement, "do you have a Claire Temple in custody? She asked us to represent her."

"Hold on a second, sugar," she said, opening a book to her left and looking down the list.

Foggy grabbed Matt's elbow and wiggled it. "Claire? Is this hot-nurse-Claire?"

Matt pulled his elbow free. "Professional, Foggy, that's you."

Foggy cleared his throat and looked around at the officers and civilians going about urgent business around them.

Ashanti looked up from her book. "Yeah, we got her. Girl went Black Widow on some street thug's ass. Sounds to me like he deserved it, but I ain't the arresting officer." She paused. "You take a load off, Murdock, and I'll get someone to start paperwork so you can get in to see her."

"Thank you," he smiled. "I appreciate your help."

"If I were ten years younger I'd give you a whole load of something to appreciate," she sighed, shaking her head and walking off.

Foggy chuckled. "How do you do it?"

"Apparently I'm 'unbearably cute'," Matt said flippantly. "At least that's what she called me the first time she was on the desk when I came in."

"So not fair," Foggy sighed.

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* * *

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Matt's head twitched to his right slightly, then back again as if aware other people may have seen. Foggy would have been the last one to have noticed; he had flumped back into the wooden bench as if he had fallen from a great height, his arms splayed along the top edge of the backrest, his legs outstretched, his head dangling back over the seat. Matt was a picture of neatness and restraint in comparison, his feet planted firmly on the floor, his cane caught between his knees, his arms folded.

Foggy heard a voice and sat up to find an officer looking down at them. "Hey. You Claire Temple's lawyers?"

"Yeah!" he said, scrambling to his feet. He put a hand under Matt's elbow and kept him pointing in the right direction as he stood too. Matt's elbow detached itself from his friend's grip and Foggy remembered for the fourth time that week that, out of the two of them, it wasn't Matt that normally needed help standing up.

The man turned and chucked a thumb over his shoulder. "This way, gents. She's in interview room three."

They walked along, Matt finding the wall and smoothing his free hand along it, until he heard feet stopping. A door clicked and whooshed and he smelt the familiar yet unwanted stale air of an enclosed space assaulted regularly by air con and cleaning chemicals. Some other concoction of smells was buried in amongst the glass cleaner and mild bleach - a hint of medical soap and latex, of fruit shampoo and Oil of Olay moisturiser. He had to fight to keep the pleased smile off his face.

Foggy touched at his elbow and went in first, and Matt's head canted as he distinctly heard the officer walking away. His fingers tripped over the doorjamb and he followed it round, his cane tapping him toward a metal chair by a desk.

"Am I glad to see you two," Claire heaved.

The sound of material rustling and the sense of concentrated body heat told Matt a long hug was in progress. He waited patiently.

"Don't worry, Claire," Foggy said as they stood back from each other, "we'll take care of you."

"It's my turn," Matt said. He felt his tongue leap up and facepalm itself in sheer self-kickery. "—To look out for _you_ , I mean," he added hastily.

He felt the storm of heat, of fierce will, of unrepentant defiance close on him and swallowed. Then her arms were round him as she squeezed, her chin settling on his shoulder, brushing ever so briefly at the side of his face. This time the heat he felt was shooting through his face and arms, and much lower down too, if he were being honest. His chest turned to concrete, forcing him to try to control his breathing, to make it quieter, smoother, more _normal_ than the freight train puffing in his ears.

"Matt," she breathed right by his skin. "Thanks for coming. You look good."

"You mean I picked out clothes that matched? If the tie is ridiculous blame Foggy - he said it was black," he managed, hoping his voice was not as feeble as it felt.

But she was amused; he could feel the slight rush of air as she grinned. She guided him back. "I heard you picked out a lot of new _clothes_ since the last time I saw you."

His face boiled as her hands went to his arms and eased him further away. "I got a better tailor," he managed.

Again, she was smiling. But her heart sped up just a tad as she replied: "Pity. I kind of liked the black."

Matt cleared his throat. "Well. We're here to talk about you. Shall we?"

She walked away and he felt his chest loosening. Suddenly able to breathe unobstructed, he reached for a chair and was pleasantly surprised as a metal backrest collided with his fingers. He put his left hand to the table to give him an idea of space as he pushed himself into the seat.

A chair scraped to his left and he knew Foggy had collapsed into it. Matt laced his fingers together on the table, his cane resting by his right elbow up against the edge. "So," he said. "Could you tell us what happened?"

Claire sat slowly and put her forearms on the desk. She sniffed. "I had just done eleven hours at the hospital. I was on my way home and I thought: there is no way I'm cooking tonight." She paused. "I went to a lunch truck and ordered. The guy was handing it over and taking my money, and then this… kid… comes out of the alleyway. She pulls a knife and tells the guy to give her everything."

"Claire, Claire, Claire," Foggy sighed. "Tell me you didn't take on a young punk with a knife."

"No," she said, affronted. "The owner of the truck did. He opened the side door and went nuts - they were fighting, there was blood and shouting - I really thought someone was going to die. I was on the line to nine-one-one when the kid gets tossed across the road and the owner comes at _me_."

"What? Why?" Foggy asked.

"Like I know?" she countered. "Suddenly he's coming at me and I dropped my phone. I picked up the first thing that touched my hand and I used it to defend myself."

"What was that? A two by four?" Matt asked dryly.

"A wooden stool, I think," she said. "It had legs and a seat. Anyway, I swing at this guy and he goes down like… Well, fast. He's getting up like he's going to kill me but then there are blue lights everywhere. I get up and he's gone - vanished. I'm brought here for questioning. They think _I_ beat up the young thief and I'm lying about it - the truck driver is nowhere to be found."

"That's _it?_ " Foggy gasped. "What a waste of everyone's time! We'll have you out of here in like—"

"Foggy," Matt said quietly. His friend stopped dead, just waiting. Matt's head swung to face Claire. "This owner. Did he say why he was angry with you? Did he threaten you, warn you in any way, before he came at you?"

Claire sighed. "Yes."

"What did he say? Please, Claire, try to remember exactly," Matt said.

She paused and he distinctly felt the change in the room; wariness and weariness had morphed into cold anger. "Oh, I remember exactly," she growled. "He said, and if this ain't a quote then my hearing is worse than I thought: 'put that phone down you black bitch, before I beat you with it and then use it to show you a real good time'."

Foggy's face flipped into a rictus of disgust. "And all you did was hit him with a stool? You should have _buried_ that asshole!" he cried.

"Foggy," Matt said sharply. Foggy managed to compose himself, but from the way he was breathing a little fast and his heart was beating like a marching band, Matt knew he wasn't about to let it go. Matt cleared his throat and sat a little straighter. "Claire," he said carefully. "Did he say anything else?"

"Like that's not enough?" Foggy scoffed. "Man, if he'd spoken to me like that—"

"It's ok, Foggy," Claire said suddenly. She looked at Matt. "Yes, he did. He said he wasn't going to let some kid and a woman ruin things."

Matt leant back in the chair, but Foggy looked from her to him and back again. "That's it?" he asked.

Matt turned his head toward Foggy. "Ask Karen to look into this guy. Dollars to doughnuts he doesn't have a licence to cook and/or sell roadside food," he said.

"Ohhh - I'm with you, buddy," Foggy nodded. He whipped out his notebook and began to scribble.

"This is what's going to happen," Matt said, turning his face back to Claire. "We will get you released on our recognisance because you're a public servant and need to attend your shifts at the hospital. In the meantime, you will stay at Foggy's while we look into how this guy managed to avoid getting arrested _and_ kept his name and truck out of all this."

"Me?" Foggy said. "But… uh… I kind of have no room right now. I mean…"

"You mean you smell like Armani Code because Marci is slowly taking over your bathroom and not because you're into perfume?" Matt said quietly.

Foggy squared his shoulders. "She wears D&G Blue, actually," he blustered.

Matt's head tilted nearly all the way flat to his right as he swung it back toward Claire in resignation.

"So… I'll have to stay somewhere else," she dared. "Like… with _another_ person from your firm."

Matt's head shot upright in happy realisation. "Yes. You will."

"Is that going to be a problem?" Foggy asked, the innocence so thick it could have been cut into slices and eaten.

"Not if you call Karen _first_ and ask her nicely," Matt smiled.

"Karen?" Foggy echoed dumbly.

"Karen. You do remember Karen? Nice woman, gets her teeth into a mystery and won't let go, works for our firm?" Matt said politely.

Foggy smacked a closed fist into Matt's shoulder. " _You_ ," he managed through clenched, angry teeth. "You - are - a—. Absolutely right."

"I know," Matt said.

Foggy made his hand drop. "Claire? We'll go do boring paperwork stuff, and you wait here to be released," he said stiffly, getting up.

"Thank you," Claire said, her voice relieved.

Matt got up to the feel of Foggy's fingers hauling the shoulder of his jacket toward the door. "Come here, you," Foggy growled.

"Sit tight, Claire," Matt said as he was half-guided, half-dragged from the room.

The door closed behind him and he was shuffled down the hallway. "Foggy - slow down."

" _If you weren't some kind of ninja Chuck Norris I would kick your ass_ ," Foggy hissed at him. He turned him by the shoulders and whisked him round, pushing him against the wall. "You _idiot_. What are you doing, playing hard to get?"

"I'm not playing, Foggy, I'm being a lawyer," he said firmly.

"Right. You know, you could _use_ a bit of playing. You need to loosen up, man. She likes you - _really_ likes you. A few nights of her crashing at your place would be a nice change, don't you think?"

Matt's hand went up and swept Foggy's off his shoulder. He stood straighter and Foggy took a step back. "Foggy… I appreciate what you're trying to do. But there are… reasons, ok? Let's get her released and ask Karen if she'd mind a houseguest."

"But Matt—"

"It's for the best, Foggy," he urged, managing to keep his voice low. "What if she stays and then something happens that I have to leave?"

"Look, man, if you've got her in your place all to yourself then I don't care if your own personal friggin' Bat signal goes up - you let some other superhero handle it and you take a night off," he hissed.

"Do you understand how hard it is to concentrate on anything when you can hear a child screaming three blocks away?" he said calmly.

"Dude—"

"And if I do go out, and I come home, dripping with blood or trailing people who'd hurt her to get to me - _again_ … what then?" Matt urged, his voice quiet. "It's not just me, Foggy - I have to think about what happens to everyone around me - including you and Karen."

Foggy huffed, and Matt detected the very angry way his heart clapped a few times before beginning to settle. "Fine," he muttered. "If that's how you want it."

"It's _not_ how I want it, but… it's just how it has to be." He patted his arm and then angled himself toward the front desk, his cane going out in front of him.

Foggy muttered something under his breath before reaching in his inside pocket for his phone. He huffed and mumbled as he unlocked the cell phone and tapped at a name. He put it to his ear. "Oh, hey Karen," he began, somewhat resentfully. He listened for a moment. "It's this nurse that Matt knows. Yeah. From the hospital. Well you know he had that car accident and everything… Yeah. That one. Well…"

He transferred the phone to his other ear, casting a look far down the corridor and across the room of busy, talking people, finding a single head of fluffy dark hair.

He smiled. "Uh, hey, do me and Matt a favour?" he asked. "The nurse-witness-lady here needs someone to look after her for a few nights. Yeah. Just to… you know, crash at someone's place, be out of her own flat for safety reasons…" He smiled. "Yeah. So… you're busy, right? You can't do it, can you? No, of course you can't," he rattled off, over the top of her surprised voice. "Yeah, thought you'd have to say no. That's ok, Karen - that's _perfectly_ ok." He cut the call with a smug grin, looking up and across the far room. "Oh Matty," he sighed in accomplishment. "You're welcome."

.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading so far, folks! Here we go with another story I said I'd never do..._


	2. One to the Gut

**TWO**

One to the gut

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"Hey - how'd it go?" Karen asked.

Foggy walked into the reception area of Nelson and Murdock, closing the door behind him. "Well… Matt's going to be super pissed off with me for the next few hours, but… I think that's a good thing," he smiled.

"Ok," she said cluelessly. "What was all that about this nurse needing somewhere to hide out?"

Foggy grinned. He walked to her desk and plonked a thick file down upon it. "We have a case. Claire Temple, of Hell's Kitchen, was arrested for allegedly kicking the crap out of a street thug. Thing is, it wasn't her."

"Right." She paused to think. "What do I do?"

"You look into all the food trucks - you know, lunch trucks and all those dudes who zip around the city cooking out of a van. We need to find which driver attacked Claire after he'd already beaten up some kid trying to rob him."

"Every truck?" she gasped.

"Yup. No stone unturned, Karen. I'll help. We need to find something fast. Me and Matt are going back to the police station tomorrow morning so we can talk to the street kid."

Karen picked up the file as Foggy went into his office and set down his jacket and briefcase. She frowned and followed him in. "So… Did you find a place for her to stay? And you know I could have put her up, right - why call me if you didn't want me to take her in?"

Foggy grinned as he opened up his laptop. "Because Matt _wanted_ her to stay with you."

"I don't understand."

He plonked himself down in the chair before turning in it to look up at her. "She's hot. —Seriously hot. And Matt really digs her but he's pretending he doesn't. _She's_ pretending she's fine with being friends. It's actually funny in its painful symmetry."

"Oh," she managed, curling hair round her ear. Her eyes went to the floor. "I see."

"You ok?" he asked.

"Oh yeah - I'm just trying to think where we could start with these trucks," she said brightly. She went back out into the reception area and her desk, locating her laptop and bringing it into the room. "Do you mind if I work in here?"

"I was going to suggest you do. It's empty in here without Matt playing his word piano."

She smiled until she looked at the empty chair across the table. "Yes, it is."

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* * *

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Matt opened the door to his apartment wide and then stood back to wait. Claire stepped over the threshold and wandered in slowly. "You've tidied," she teased.

He closed the door and laid his cane against the wall beside it. "Kinda. I had a clear-out. All the smashed stuff is gone."

"Smashed stuff?"

A noise alerted them both to his trouser pocket. He shoved a hand in and they clearly heard the noise repeat. It turned out to be a voice: " _Text - Foggy. Text - Foggy_."

He frowned and pressed his thumb into the button at the bottom of the screen. "Read text."

A tinny, almost lifelike voice obeyed: " _Just making sure you got home safe. Streets are dangerous, buddy_."

Matt's shoulders sagged just a little. He pressed something on the phone. "Dictate text - reply." A tiny beep sounded. "I'm home. Do some work. End message," he said clearly. The phone chirped an affirmative. "Send message," he ordered. He waited for the phone to give its little _ting_ of agreement before sliding it back into his pocket.

Claire had ambled over to the sofa, her bag in her arms. "This whole place still needs a paint-job."

"I couldn't choose a colour - they all looked the same."

She smiled, shaking her head.

He walked around the alcove to the kitchen counter. "Coffee?"

"Please. It's been a long, weird day." She sat on the sofa and dropped her bag between her feet. "So… How've you been? I mean, there was that whole Fisk thing - I saw something in the paper about some police officer providing state's evidence."

"That was us - bringing in the officer, I mean. We've had a lot of interest from city firms - two of them are actually fighting for who gets to put us on official retainer with priority." His hands went out to the mugs drying on the kitchen drainer, turning them the right way up and then sliding along to find the large tea kettle on the stove. He lifted it to make sure it was heavy with water. His fingers slipped over the gas knob and then the familiar _tick-tick_ of the ignition made him feel like he was really home. The resulting mini- _whoomf_ sound brought the hob to brilliant blue life, and it began its job of heating up the water.

"What about you?" she asked quietly. "How are you holding up?"

"Well we've got better wi-fi in the office - Karen got some guy in to straighten it out for the whole building. She can order copies of the forms and the court reports in Braille so I get them quicker now. She even gets a runner to bring them down to us, and because she did him some kind of favour he does it for free."

Claire waited, but all she heard was a rattling noise of hot metal, spoons in coffee cups and a fridge door. She turned and put her hand on the backrest of the couch, looking across the room at him. "I meant you."

He brought one coffee mug over slowly, stopping in front of her to present it a foot lower than where her breathing was coming from. "Foggy's forgiven me for being a vigilante, so there's that."

She took the cup and put it on the table to her left. She looked up but he was already walking off, back to the kitchen. She waited, her jaw jutting out, as he came back again with his own coffee. He relaxed slowly into the chair opposite.

"Stop avoiding the question," she said tersely. "What have you been up to that you don't want me to know about?"

He sniffed casually. "Not much."

"Liar."

"Let's just… have this evening. As, you know, friends."

She laced her fingers together, balancing her elbows on her knees. "Matt… Thanks for representing me. For getting me out of there."

"That's my job," he replied, but she noticed he smiled.

She sighed. "But I'm going to ask anyway. What's been going on with you? Tell me and we'll move on."

"Move on," he mused, sniffing his coffee before taking a sip. "Turns out I'm not as good at that as I thought."

"How?" she asked carefully.

He sipped his coffee again. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

He cleared his throat, and she noticed his eyes blink behind his glasses. "You left New York. I was glad you did, because of the shit that rained down straight after. But… I didn't like that you weren't here."

"Because you knew you had no private nurse on call."

He smiled. "That was totally it. No other reason."

She nodded to herself, then picked up her coffee. She sipped it but then just held it in her mouth, a disgusted look on her face. "Mmm-mm-mm-mmm!" she managed.

"What?"

She got up and went to the kitchen sink, spitting it all out carefully. "Oh my god! Matt!"

"What?" he demanded, getting to his feet quickly. "Are you ok?"

"No!" She turned and looked at his counter top. "You put salt in the coffee instead of sugar."

His mouth worked for a second, his face a picture of confusion. "No - I got it out of the sugar jar, same as always." He wended his way back to the counter and his hand went unswervingly to the shiny metal container with the kilner locking lid. "This one."

She took it from him. "Well it says 'sugar' on it, but…" She undid the top and shook it slightly, looking in. She grimaced and put a finger into it. "Yeah - salt. Someone replaced your sugar with plain old salt."

"Foggy," he realised.

She smiled. "I thought you said he'd forgiven you for being this 'Daredevil' in the newspaper?"

He put his hand out and took the jar, but her fingers were caught underneath his. He paused; she looked at his grip.

"Foggy said Karen's place was unsuitable for me to stay there," she said quietly. "He was lying, wasn't he?"

He sighed. "I'm beginning to realise that."

"I wonder why he would want me to stay here instead."

"Because I can't watch you change clothes?" he hazarded.

She grinned. Then she pulled her hand free of his, plucked the jar from it, and placed it on the counter. She took his hand in both of hers. Putting it up to her face, she held it against her cheek. "This is the first time I've smiled like this all week. So thanks for that, too."

He shuffled his hand away from her skin. "You're welcome," he managed, turning to the counter in the hope that she wouldn't see the colour in his cheeks.

She folded her arms and looked at her feet for a long moment, listening to him set about making fresh coffee. He turned suddenly and held another jar out to her. "Is _this_ the sugar?"

She opened it up and pushed a finger into the contents. "Flour."

"Son of a—"

"He was _really_ upset, wasn't he?" she grinned. "Move. Let me put your jars in the right places."

He stood back against the other counter and listened to her busy around around the spoons and mugs, kettles and instant coffee powder. "I'll have to think of a way to get him back," he said.

"You really should get a proper coffee machine," she scoffed. "That would make it harder for him to mess with you."

"He's already done that."

"It's just salt," she chuckled.

"No, I mean—." He huffed slightly.

She turned right round and looked at him. "What do you 'mean'? Tell me, Matt. Stop avoiding me."

"He manoeuvred you into my apartment." He frowned. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know," she said seriously. "For so many reasons, I know." She paused. "Is that what's messing with you? Me being here?"

"My… equilibrium," he muttered.

She let a small smile cross her face. "How?"

"I can 'witness' everything in this building. I can smell things, tune into conversations like a radio. Except…" He shook his head. "Except… sometimes it's harder to hear things."

"What things?" she dared.

His head tilted in the direction of her feet. "Things outside this apartment. Outside… me."

She watched his face, waited for it to lift slightly. Heat crept up her own face but she straightened her back. "And what it is that makes it harder to hear things outside yourself?"

He pushed himself up off the counter to reach for the surface next to her. "Where did I put my coffee?"

She reached across him and picked it up. Capturing his hand, she pushed the mug into it. "What can you hear?" she asked. "Right now?"

His head angled down toward her touch on his hand. He frowned. "Blood. In my ears. Your breathing - pace unset like it's uncertain, but getting faster."

"What about the rest of the building?"

His head canted the other way, his chin came up. He was silent for a long moment. Then he huffed quietly. "It's all blotted out." He pulled his hand and coffee away from her. "It's warm in here." He turned and walked away.

She ordered her breathing to slow, felt it beginning to do just that. "Open a window," she said, picking up her fresh coffee and walking after him.

"Wouldn't help," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" she asked.

"We need help," he said, turning to face her. "Foggy and Karen are looking up this truck driver. Would you be able to pick him out of a book of DMV licence photos?"

"I think so," she said, settling herself on the sofa again. She looked at her watch. "It's nearly ten. What time do you get your new costume on and go beat up dicks stealing old ladies' purses?"

"Oh not till at least midnight," he said with a small smile. "And normally it's ATM thefts or muggings from people leaving bars. I guess all the old ladies are already in bed by then."

"My loss," she sighed theatrically.

"How so?"

"Well I was going to watch _you_ change clothes," she teased.

This time she very clearly saw the red in his cheeks as he searched for something to say.

"I'll, um, get bedding - make up the couch - for me," he said, taking his mug into the bedroom with him.

She smiled to herself and sipped her coffee.

.

* * *

.

Karen yawned. "It's too late for this," she announced. She closed the file in front of her to look to her left. She realised she couldn't remember the last time Foggy had moved. "Hey," she said, reaching out and poking his arm.

He jumped about six inches in his skin. "Three!" he blurted. "Three trucks!"

"Calm down," she giggled. "You were asleep, Foggy. It's time we both went home."

"What? Oh right - yeah," he managed. "Sorry. I promise I thought I was onto something."

She got up slowly, stretching her arms out. "Well you can still be onto something tomorrow," she smiled. "Bright and early."

"I guess." He stood but left everything where it was. "You know… if this dude with the truck didn't want anyone to rob him, that's one thing. But saying he didn't want a kid or a woman to 'ruin things'? That's odd."

"Maybe he's an illegal street vendor. We should be looking at vendors who've been cautioned or arrested," she shrugged.

"Yes!" he said. "Hang on. We can get that from the—"

"Tomorrow, Señor Foggy," she smiled.

"Right." He picked up his jacket and his keys, waiting for her to leave first.

She gathered up her things from her own desk, and they crowded the front door.

"You know," he said, "now we have a plaque _outside_ , we should really get someone to paint this window for us. Like a 1940s film noir."

She smiled. "Well when we've billed our first client and actually been _paid_ , that's the first thing I'll organise."

"I knew there was a reason we hired you," he beamed.

They went out of the door and she locked it securely, the two of them chatting as they walked along the corridor to get to the stairs.

So they didn't hear the window opening behind her desk - or the figure that stole in through the sudden gap.

.

* * *

.

Claire rolled onto her back. She gathered a puff of blankets and sheets in her arms and huffed to herself as she considered the ceiling. A gentle pattering began and she looked over to the windows. Tiny drops slapped into the glass behind the thin curtains, reminding her again how little light they actually held out. She rolled to her side and stared at them, imagining the rain connecting into rivulets and coursing down the window.

 _At least he's not out there in this_ , she sighed. _He'd be soaking wet in a few minutes_. Her eyes rolled right round their sockets in self-kickery. _Great. Well_ _that's_ _an image that is_ _not_ _going to help me sleep._

A creak of some kind of metal made her freeze. She realised it was the couch in the living room and let out her breath.

She put her hand up over her heart quickly, pressing and trying to gauge its speed. _He can't hear that, can he? Shit. Talk about giving yourself away._

Another creak. She whipped her hand from her skin hastily.

Suddenly she heard it; the hum of a living thing, the slight whine of a live electrical connection, that minuscule awareness of something alive - and in the room with her.

 _Someone's come for him. Why didn't I bring a weapon with me?_ she tutted. She began to weigh up her options.

Until an almighty _smack_ and a _thump_ made her snap upright in bed. She got to her hands and knees and scrabbled to the edge to find a shape uncurling itself on the floor. "What - the - hell - Matt?" she demanded angrily.

"Bag," he wheezed, apparently to himself. He put a hand to the side of the bed and hauled himself the right way up. She drew her head back, aware of how close he now was, still on his knees with both hands on the mattress as if it were his artificial horizon. "Sorry," he whispered. "New stuff I haven't put there always throws me. I was going for—"

"Why are you whispering?" she cried. "We're the only ones here!"

"Habit." He groaned as he got to his feet. He pushed a hand through his absurdly fluffy hair, an act that made him seem twenty times more apologetic than any words he could have come out with. His head swung around to centre on her left shoulder. "I thought you were asleep."

"You couldn't hear me _not_ sleeping?"

"Kinda blocked it all out," he muttered.

"Teach me _that_ trick," she managed, tearing her eyes away from the sight of him in just pyjama trousers and an embarrassed worry-smile. "Wait - what are you doing in here?"

"I need a few things before I put on the suit."

"It's raining cats and dogs outside, and you're thinking about putting on a costume and running around in it?"

"Pretty much."

"You're insane. No-one's going to be mugging anyone tonight - there's no-one out there to mug and no-one desperate enough to _find_ someone to mug," she tutted. She retreated up the bed, pulling the sheets and blankets over her borrowed pyjamas. "Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't asleep."

"Why not?" she asked. She watched him wander to the far window, a hand outstretched as if to command the curtains to move.

"It's loud. The rain."

"So you'd rather be out in it than listening to it?" She found herself throwing her legs over the side of the bed and ambling up beside him. She folded her arms. "What does it look like?" she asked quietly.

He smiled to himself, his eyes wide, unblinking, unfocused. She let herself watch, fascinated by the tiny changes in his expression as he obviously fought with words in his head.

"Like… melted glass made of flames… Tiny explosions of kinetic energy, of miniature gravity bombs," he whispered. "Always changing shape, always glowing and dying and stretching and rippling with heat and… things."

"Heat?" she marvelled. "I thought rain was cold."

"It transfers energy when it hits things."

"You see energy now? What are you, Physics Man?"

He grinned and she let herself enjoy it. "No," he said. "Like when you clap your hands and you feel the heat. Like that."

Her hand went up without her command. It slid through the hair over his ear. "You are always surprising me."

"What if I was sighted? What if I couldn't see these things?" he asked, his smile disappearing. "What if I was just like everyone else? No reason to stand out in a crowd?"

"I think you would _always_ stand out in a crowd. That smart mouth of yours is enough without all this extra superhero shit."

"I didn't mean being a superhero. Which I'm not, by the way."

"You think this is all about people doing the wounded duck thing and only being nice to you because you're blind?"

"It's happened."

"When I first met you I had no idea you were blind. This is not about me feeling sorry for you, Matt."

"You?"

She cleared her throat. She made her hand pull away. "You shouldn't go out tonight. How are you going to _see_ anyone in amongst all the gravity explosions in that rain-battlefield?"

His head dropped and he smiled to himself, if ruefully. "Well it's hard to sleep with you here."

"Don't."

"No, really. The bed makes noises when you move, the couch is kind of lumpy and the refrigerator goes on and off at random intervals."

She chuckled. "You shit." Her hand pushed into his arm and he lurched with the unexpected pressure. Her hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back upright. She froze, realising how much of her was pressed into him and how much of him was being held that way by her.

"Uhm…" He paused, distinctly uncertain.

"This was a bad idea," she said.

"Very." He paused. "I'll go now."

She waited.

He didn't move.

"Uh… you may have to let go," he said carefully.

"Oh!" she realised. She all but snatched her hand away. "Right. Yeah. Ok."

She waited.

He didn't move.

She put a hand up against the window. His chin jerked slightly, as if reacting to the sound, undecided whether to turn his head toward it or keep it on her. For the fiftieth time she admitted to herself how much she liked the way he did that.

"Ok then…" He wet his lips, then nodded. "'Night."

"Yep."

His head began to move, as if summoned by something over his shoulder. Her hand went up and smoothed over his far cheek to bring it back to her.

"This is _very_ bad idea," she muttered.

He opened his mouth to reply.

She kissed him.

The rain bounced against the window, the bright advertising lights blinked fresh messages to the passers-by, a car horn beeped once somewhere outside.

 _Outside_.

Her hand smoothed down his neck to his chest. She eased him back and looked at him. "We really shouldn't be doing this."

"I agree," he nodded.

He kissed her.

She began to chuckle, some little point about the evening tickling her until she felt him laughing too. He lifted his head.

"I'm going to kill Foggy," he chuckled.

"Ah-ah-ah," she warned. "Heroes don't kill people."

"Haven't you heard? I'm supposed to be a 'devil'."

"Oh yeah?" she dared, turning him around and pushing him toward the bed. "Prove it."

.

* * *

.

Foggy strode in through the office door, finding Karen sitting behind a pile of damp manila folders. "And these are?" he asked.

"The window leaked," she grumped. "It was throwing it down all night, and for some reason the window just kinda blew itself open. These were the files in the storage boxes under the window - so now they're soggy and illegible."

"Well were they important?" he asked, carrying his briefcase into his office. He poked his head back out.

"I don't know," she said, frustrated. "I can't believe the damn thing just came open like that - what if someone had climbed in here last night and taken all our computers?"

"I'm pretty sure that anyone who had climbed in here last night would have _laughed_ at our computers, and then gone to the next place with ones that run something more useful than Windows 2000," he shrugged.

"Ours don't run—." She rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

"What are you doing in here so early anyway?"

"Early?" She looked at her watch. "It's nine fifteen, Foggy."

"Really?" he wondered, turning to go back into his office. He put a hand on the doorjamb and paused. "Wait - it's after nine and Matt's not in yet?"

"No. Why?"

"YESS!" Foggy crowed, throwing his hands into the air. "Ha ha!"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Guess who got laid!" he sang, samba'ing his way back in front of her desk. "It's about time!"

"Who?" she demanded.

"Yeah - who?" came a voice from behind him.

Foggy's face scrunched up in annoyance. "Don't _do_ that, man!" he protested. He spun on the spot to see Matt in the doorway, his cane in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

"Karen? What did I miss?" Matt asked innocently.

"Don't try that one, Matt!" Foggy accused, pointing at him. "You and Claire got it on, didn't you? _Didn't_ you!"

"Do you want me to lie?" Matt offered.

"Yes! Lie if you have to! But tell me you finally got some and you'll relax a bit, let your hair down!" Foggy cried.

Matt's face tipped down as if greatly amused. "I 'got some'. Happy?"

"God _damn_ it! Ok - I take it back - I _don't_ want you to lie!" Foggy cried.

Matt's mouth opened. A few fingers opened up from around his cane in apology.

Foggy put both hands in the air over his head. "No! Don't! The damage is done!" He stormed off into his office.

Matt's head tilted in his direction but Foggy's door closed. Matt's face went toward Karen. "Uh…"

"Don't listen to him," she smiled. "We have a bit of water damage out here - the rain got in."

"How did that happen?" he asked with a frown.

"Well the best I can figure it, the window blew open sometime overnight - just when it was pouring down," she sighed. "Foggy's windows are ok but I haven't checked yours yet."

"Well then," Matt said, turning to his left and walking through to his office. He left the cane leaning into the desk and swept his hand over the surface to make sure it was empty before setting his briefcase down.

He heard Karen's steady footfalls cross his office in a very no-nonsense manner. Metal rattled slightly to his left as he waited.

"Are we intact?" he asked with a smile. _Smells dry enough_.

"Yeah. Your office is fine - same as always."

"Oh, by the way… Could you do me a favour?" he asked carefully.

"Sure. What?"

"Could you put the Braille reports in the same place every morning? I know it's stupid but knowing where to expect them makes life easier."

"Oh - sorry," she gasped. "I never thought—. Sorry."

"No, it's fine, it's just… new patterns are a challenge."

"Sorry. I'll put them on the left of your desk every time. I didn't even think about it."

"Most people don't." He cleared his throat. "Thanks."

"Sure." Her heels _click-click_ ed to his doorway. Then they paused. "Uh… So… how is Claire? She ok?"

"Oh she's great. —Fine. She's fine. A little shaken for about two minutes, but she's one of those people who gets over stuff pretty quickly when they need to."

"She's a nurse, right? So I guess she's seen some scary shit."

"You could say that." He paused. "Uh, Karen?"

"Yes."

"Is there a ledge or a fire escape or anything outside your window?"

"No. Nothing. Why?"

"What do you think really happened to it?" he asked.

"I think the wind just blew it open. The latch was never that good."

"Right."

"Ok then." Her shoes clacked out of the office and he heard his door close quietly.

He took off his suit jacket and laid it over the back of his chair, thought for a long second, and then went out of his office. Karen just watched as he went around the wall to her right, his hand trailing along to take him to the windows behind her.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, bemused.

His fingers went over the catches to the windows, feeling the tiny, brand new nicks of some kind of precision blade. He felt back over the other window, to his right, but found nothing except smooth paint and metal. He moved back and ran his fingers over the scratches. He tilted his head toward Karen. "Pull out all our cases since Hoffman," he said. "We need to find out what they took."

"Who? Took what?" she asked, confused.

"Someone was in here - someone looking through our files."

Her eyes widened. "Shit. Let me look for the list of files."

.


	3. One From Left Field

**THREE**

 **One from left field**

.

Foggy read the page again, then sighed. "It must be Claire's case. The other recent ones were like… nothing. I mean, that dude with the dangerous fire escape? All we did was prove the entire apartment block was insufficiently safe in case of fire. The owner just replaced the entire escape set-up. It didn't cost him more than ten thousand dollars and he makes like half of that a month in rent across the city anyway. It's not his only property."

"Some people don't like to spend money," Karen offered.

Foggy sat back and looked around his table at the other two. "The other guy? We sued him on behalf of the city for manufacturing and supplying explosives to people working for Wilson Fisk. I don't think they're the kind of people to just jump in a window and rifle through some files."

"So someone came in here last night to get Claire's file in particular. What does it have to do with the truck driver?" Matt asked.

"I don't think he could have gotten in the window," Karen scoffed. "I read Claire's statement. She said the guy was like six foot three - built like Fisk with more hair."

"Yikes," Foggy breathed. "And she hit him with a wooden stool? She's got some serious _cojones_."

"Sometimes you do whatever you have to, to defend yourself," Karen said, but when Foggy looked at her, she was staring at the table.

"Is this a girl thing? Like the mace on your keychain?" he asked.

"You try walking around this city at night in a skirt and see how far you get without trouble," Karen said.

"I'd have to be pretty drunk first. Although there was that college party we went to - no wait, that was togas," he said.

Karen's nervous look morphed into a smile of surprise. "You were in a toga?"

"I was _not_. _Matt_ was in a toga, and I was a busty serving wench. It was high-larious."

Karen giggled. "I can imagine. Was this some kind of _Animal House_ thing?"

"Yes!" Foggy gasped, pointing at her. "Yes! Thank you! _Finally_ someone gets me!"

"I still don't get it," Matt said, shaking his head.

"Really?" Karen grinned.

"Haven't seen it," he said pointedly.

Foggy just laughed. "I guess it's not in the library of movies with audio narration yet. —Which is a _crime_ , by the way. We should sue."

"Call Netflix. I hear they're adding audio narration to all their stuff," Karen smiled.

Matt let out a single roll of a chuckle. "How about we find out who's stealing our files first. _Then_ we take on major motion picture studios."

"No-one calls them that any more," Karen said.

"Well the last movie I saw was with my dad," Matt shrugged. "It was _The Rocketeer."_

"Crappy comic book movies, man. Who goes to see those any more?" Foggy asked.

Karen reached out and pushed gently at his shoulder. "A lot of people. _I_ do. I like comic book heroes. They make the world seem a little less bleak - just for a while. Like this Daredevil guy."

Matt smiled, but Foggy shook his head. "You know what makes people smile? _Animal House_ , and the parties we went to dressed up in togas and tiaras," he said firmly.

"Pity you didn't go for a job where you could do that all day," Karen teased.

"We're lawyers, Karen. We can do _anything_ ," Foggy said grandly.

"So you'd wear a toga to court?"

"What are we, Franklin and Bash?" he gasped. "Hell no. We go in our finest cheap suits and designer eyewear."

She shook her head. "So… Where do we start here? I mean, if there is someone looking for files on Claire, then they must have known we were representing her."

"Very true. Which… means… they must have seen us at the police station," Foggy said.

Matt got up suddenly. "We still don't have a working coffee machine, do we?"

Karen looked up. "Yes."

"No," Foggy said firmly. "It makes truly heinous coffee. Poor Karen's been trying to coax something out of it that doesn't taste like the dregs from the oil sump on a taxi cab but she can only work with what she's given."

"I'll get us some decent coffee," Matt said. "You two review anyone and everyone connected with this case, from arresting officers to people that might have been wandering the station when we walked in." He picked up his jacket and cane and headed to the door.

"Hey - we have to go to the station anyway. We're talking to the other witness, right?" Foggy said.

"Karen - call ahead," Matt said. "Check the street kid is actually there. They may be at the hospital still."

"Yeah - ok - coffee though. Do you want some petty cash?" Karen asked.

"I'll bring back a receipt," he said. He opened the door and was gone.

She looked at Foggy, but he just shrugged and flipped to the front of the case file. She got comfortable and pulled her laptop closer to her. She began to page through lines of applications, reading the subject headers. "I'll keep looking at the lists of drivers in the city - but if you two are right then this guy won't have a proper licence."

"But he might have an application that was turned down - check those," he said.

It was silent for nearly five minutes.

"Foggy," she said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Where has he _really_ gone?"

"To get coffee," he said innocently. Then he frowned. "Why?"

"He didn't even ask us what we wanted."

Foggy's frown turned to worry.

.

* * *

.

Matt twisted the key in the door to his apartment. He flung it open and stepped in.

Something hard and heavy connected with his shoulder. He all but keeled over toward the floor. But a tuck and roll that was all to do with muscle memory and nothing to do with understanding what was happening had him back on his feet. His hands went out as if for balance as he surveyed the room.

"Shit! Sorry!" Claire cried. He heard a muffled thump, and then the door close. He paused to assess the heat rapidly dissipating from a long, tubular item on the floor.

"What was that for?" he asked, relaxing and then putting a hand to his face, realising his glasses had gone travelling. He heard her feet move and then she was touching his hand, opening it up and placing his glasses in it.

"You didn't call first. You said you'd call before you came in so I'd know it was you," she said. "I'm sorry. Are you hurt?"

"Well it was a pretty good whack but I'll walk it off," he managed.

She stepped back. "Next time I'll look."

"No, next time—." He huffed, his head canting to one side as it dropped.

"What?"

"There shouldn't _be_ a next time. You shouldn't be here, we shouldn't be doing this, and we really _really_ shouldn't have to—"

"Matt," she said quietly. "I'm here because I was arrested for assaulting someone who disappeared, and your partner thought it would be funny to have me here instead of with someone who works at your office. Everything else…"

He turned and felt his way to the kitchen counter, putting his glasses down. "I know."

"So what did you come here for? You must have been in a hurry if you didn't think to call ahead."

"No, I—. I was worried. Someone broke into the office and took or copied stuff from your file. They may have been trying to find you."

"Probably," she said. "Did you lead them right here?"

He turned and smiled slightly, and she enjoyed his expression in all its lop-sided cuteness. "No," he said. "Not unless they followed me up a fire escape and across a few roofs."

"You went along the rooftops?" she grinned.

"Kinda."

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" She folded her arms. "So. Who broke into your office?"

"Well I was hoping you could tell me." He paused. "We've read your statement but could you give me a bit more information?"

"Like what?"

"You stated that the driver said something about letting a kid and a woman ruin things. Do you have any idea what he might have meant?"

She sighed. "Not a clue. I don't know what's going on. I honestly just thought someone was trying to rob his truck."

A noise interrupted them and Matt put his hand in his pocket. His phone kept repeating 'Foggy' over and over, but he hesitated.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" she asked, surprised.

He went to the window and opened it up hastily, before pressing something on the phone and putting it to his ear. He leant up to be right next to the howling gale coming through the gap. Claire just watched, lost.

"Yeah, Foggy. I'm still on the way. I know." A car beeped on the street below and Matt smiled to himself. "She what?" His smile died. "Ok, let me have the list. No I'm not going to visit the—. The _list_ , Foggy?" He listened, then nodded. "Three of them… I'm on my way back. Did you find out where the other witness is? Right. That's next." He hesitated. "Uh… no…? Because I'm in the street… and why would she be…?" He huffed. "No I'm not putting you on speaker—." He let the phone down and pressed the button.

"Hi Claire!" came Foggy's ebullient voice.

She grinned. "Hey Foggy. What's happening?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to know. See, Matt said he was going out for coffee. This, I don't think, is coffee. Tell me he's come home for a quickie to put him in a better mood before he comes back to the office?"

Claire laughed. "Nothing like that, Foggy. You've got this all wrong."

"Damn! Well you know, we could wait if you two kids want to—"

"Foggy," Matt interrupted with a wince. "I'll get proper coffee and I'll come straight back, ok?"

"There's no rush," came Foggy's voice. "We can hold the fort while you two—"

"Really, Foggy - that's not it at all," Claire said with a grin.

"Fine! Crap all over my dreams then!" he said with a boatload of faux anger. "Me and Karen will just have to sit here and imagine."

"That's just wrong," Matt said. "Do some work."

"We are! I just gave you like three guys who could be suspects!" He paused. "What do we do now, go to the precinct for help?"

"Yeah. Reach out to Mahoney and see if he knows anything about the three drivers," Matt said. "And tell him we're coming down to interview the other witness."

"Will do. Mine's a black coffee with sugar, please. Karen will have the biggest mocha thing. —Whoa, she's assaulting me. I think that means she wants like a tonne of chocolate sprinkles." He paused to laugh. "I don't think they put middle fingers _in_ coffee, Karen. Anyway, Matt - stay safe, buddy. Get back here and save me from these files."

"Just do what Karen tells you and we'll be fine," Matt said with a smile. "I'm on the way to Starbuck's." He pressed the button on the phone and slid it into his pocket.

She wandered over and put her hands to the lapels of his jacket. "Be careful. Three coffees, straight back to the office, no side trips across roofs or anywhere else dangerous."

"What are you, my mother?"

She smiled. "I don't need that image in my head." She paused. "Seriously, these three names he's just given you… You're not going to visit them now, are you?"

"No," he said dismissively. "I have to get coffee." He paused. "Don't leave the apartment, ok? Someone's obviously looking for you."

"I got that." She slid her hands down, then let go. "I'll just… hang around here."

"Um… yeah… Sorry. About not having a TV or anything you can read."

"Is that your fault?" she asked. "I'll find something to do. I might even sleep for the whole afternoon. It's not often I get the luxury of silk sheets and no reason to be awake."

"Well knock yourself out."

She put her hands to his face and pressed a firm kiss into the skin by his mouth. "Go."

He turned away and went to the kitchen counter, locating his glasses before he headed for the front door. She hurried over and picked up the long-forgotten cane, capturing his wrist and planting the stick in his hand. He offered her a grateful smile before opening the door. Then he was gone, with nothing but the sound of his footsteps down the hallway to reassure her.

She closed the door and leant back on it. Then she shook her head. "Claire, Claire, Claire," she sighed. "What are you doing to yourself." She crossed the room and went back toward the bedroom. "Still, nice sheets."

.

* * *

.

Matt and Foggy waited outside the room, complete opposites in terms of relaxation. Foggy kept checking his watch, rocking on his heels, swinging his briefcase against his leg. Matt, on the other hand, had both hands on his cane and both feet planted firmly as if expecting a very long wait.

"They did say eleven, right?" Foggy said.

Matt's hand went down and felt over the watch under his sleeve. "It's barely ten after."

"But we got here like half an hour ago."

"It's a police station, Foggy, not a restaurant."

The door suddenly opened a few feet to their right and Foggy straightened up. "It's about time," he announced.

A whiff of perfume and some kind of mid-range cologne wafted across Matt's face and his head tilted in confusion. "How many officers does it take to get a suspect-stroke-witness into an interview room?"

"When she fights like a hellcat? Two," said a female voice. "Are you two really Nelson and Murdock?"

"I'm Nelson," Foggy said, pleased. "This is my better half, Murdock."

"Shit - it's an honour to meet _you_ ," the female voice went on. Something suggested her age to be in the late thirties, with perhaps a bit of roughness that was all to do with alcohol and cigarettes on the vocal cords.

Matt felt a nudge in his right arm and automatically put his palm up. A warm, smooth hand went into it and shook briefly. "Matt Murdock," he said politely. "And you are?"

"Detective Henrickson," she replied, a smile in her voice. "About time I got to say thanks to you two boys for all you've done. I look forward to seeing more of you in the papers."

Matt smiled. "I'd settle for our names in Braille."

She chuckled, a low, infectiously friendly sound. "I'm sure. This is my partner Detective Dereczynski."

Matt's hand was shaken again, and then he took hold of his cane and waited.

"Thanks - to you both," a man's voice said - thicker, older. "Keep doing what you do, man." He paused. "Jenn - I gotta get on. You'll look after these two, right?"

"Like everything else around here," she replied, amused. "Get us on the roster for the next case."

"Will do. Gents - been a pleasure," Dereczynski said. Matt tilted his head as he heard him walk away, to mingle into the sea of voices, smells and heat further down the corridor.

"So you'll want to know all about this kid before we let you in," Henrickson said. "The stats we gave you yesterday haven't changed - name's Emma Leung. Eighteen years old. So far she's got a nice shiner coming up on her right eye, courtesy of someone she's adamant was _not_ your client, Claire Temple. She also suffered cuts, bruises and needed stitches to her forehead." She sighed. "I do need to warn you; she's a bit of a fighter. She argues, she kicks first, she bites."

"Bites?" Foggy asked. "What the hell?"

"She's had it rough," Henrickson replied. "But there's something real nice about her, if you get the right angle."

"We'll certainly try," Matt said.

"She sees through everyone's bullshit, too," Henrickson added. "Watch her - she's smart."

"Sounds like a challenge," Foggy said, and Matt distinctly heard the enthusiasm in his voice.

"Would you like to join us, Detective?" Matt asked.

"Oooh no, I don't think so," she said. "It's all lawyer stuff from here on in. Enjoy, fellas. If you need anything, you just ask for me."

"Thanks," Foggy said brightly.

Matt felt a touch at his elbow and nodded his head. He heard Henrickson's low heels head off down the corridor and turned to Foggy. "Is it me, or is the department turning into a much friendlier place these days?"

Foggy grinned. "I think she liked your glasses."

"Let's go be lawyers."

"Right."

Foggy walked off and Matt followed, his hand against the wall to lead him into the room after Foggy. He waited just inside, surveying.

The smell of old leather greeted him first; something vaguely to do with garlic and cooking oil blanketed what was definitely the metallic taint of blood. As Matt walked in he could already hear Foggy pulling out a metal chair and sitting himself down.

"Hey, Miss Leung," he said cheerfully. "I'm Foggy Nelson. This is Matt Murdock. We're lawyers."

"Like a river?" a quiet female voice replied.

Matt's head tilted at the sound of her voice. Young, thin, but with the strength of industrial steel wire.

"I'm sorry - what?" Foggy asked.

"Foggy Nelson. Like… misty Mississippi," she said.

Matt smiled as he found a chair and sat down, leaning his cane against the desk. "Something like that," he allowed.

"You always been blind?" she asked immediately - the same quiet, cautious tone.

"No." Matt set his hands on the desk and laced his fingers. "How many times have you done this?"

"What 'this'?" she asked.

"Been held for questioning. My partner looked you up, Emma Leung - you don't exist," Matt said, matching her quiet tone.

"He's not your partner. You've already got one. You just don't want to admit it," she said flippantly.

Matt's face did not move.

Foggy looked from one to the other. "We're partners in our own law firm," he said innocently. "What other partner?" he asked, his face now turned toward Matt.

"Can we start with your real name, please?" Matt said.

There was a shift, a creak to her metal chair. "Emma Leung."

Matt smiled, rather ruefully. "Can we drop the pretence and move straight onto helping you?"

"What?"

"Emma Leung is the name you were booked under," Foggy put in. "But that name - the one the police have been using to book you every time something like this happens? It's _only_ ever appeared on a rap sheet. You have no fixed address, no family, and no actual history."

Matt lifted his chin slightly. "Now, if you wanted to tell us exactly why that is, we would not be obliged to tell the police. Not if you were protected under client-lawyer confidentiality."

"You want me as a client?" she chuckled. "Oh Mr Murdock, you're funny."

"I'm a riot at parties," he said quietly. "You?"

"I'm just a riot," she said, her tone somewhat sour. She sniffed. "I don't have any money."

"I kinda figured that from the way you tried to rob a truck."

"Rob a…?" She paused. "So… I just ask you to work for me, and you do, even though you're not going to get anything out of it?"

"We get a lot out of it," Foggy said. "The city sees us as a firm that will work for anyone if the client is innocent and just needs help. Does a lot of good for our image."

"Your image is already good," she said flatly. "You did the police officer, right? Got him to rat out all the bad guys around here."

"Pretty much," Matt nodded. "You read the papers?"

"I sleep in them," she said pointedly. "They say Fisk is awaiting trial, his men are in custody, his empire is being dismantled. We're all saved now - the streets are safe. Yay, and all that."

"You're not convinced?" Matt asked.

"Dude, I live in dumpsters and I scrounge for food. Ask me how I like the new and improved New York City."

Foggy put his hands on the table. "Can you at least give us your name? We will take you as a client, but first we need to know - and legally show that we know - who you are. Do yourself a favour," he said earnestly. "We're honestly your best bet at beating an assault charge."

"Assault on who?" she asked archly. "Look at my face, Mr Nelson. I was beaten and if that nurse hadn't come along, I'd most likely be dead."

"Why do you think she's a nurse?" Matt asked quietly.

"She was wearing scrubs and she was too poor to be a doctor," she snapped. She huffed and her handcuffs clinked once, twice. "I don't understand how there's an assault charge laid against me if no-one saw anyone assaulted and no-one's come forward."

"So far there are only two people in this case," Foggy said. "The police are saying you two had a street brawl. You're both up for assault, battery, public endangerment, carrying a concealed weapon, disturbing the—"

"Alright, I get it," she interrupted.

"Help us locate the driver you attempted to rob," Matt said. "We'll get you out of here."

"I won't be here long," she said softly. "I never am."

"If you try and break out of here, it will be worse for you," Matt said clearly.

There was a long pause before she answered. "You remind me of someone," she said thoughtfully. "You been on TV?"

"Not yet," Foggy said.

"Huh," she allowed. She lifted her handcuffed wrists to the surface of the table. "If I tell you, you can't tell the police."

"Are you wanted?" Murdock asked.

"Nobody wants _me_ , Mr Murdock. Not unless they want something to kick."

Foggy sighed. "Do you want us to _help_ you? We are only obliged to give out your real name if we think your life is in danger, and it would aid us in saving that life."

"I want to go to Manitoba one day," she mused.

Matt smiled. "So we have a deal?"

Foggy looked from her to Matt and back again. "What just happened?"

"We have a new client," Matt said. "Your name, please?"

They waited. What seemed like an eternity passed by. "You don't need it."

"Name, please," Matt replied. "It's a deal-breaker."

She leant back in the chair, causing it to creak. Then she sighed, long and hard. "Merissa," she muttered.

"Merissa what?" Matt asked.

"Lau," she admitted. "If you tell anyone—"

Matt extended his hand across the table. "I promise you, we will not reveal your name to anyone."

Eventually he felt her palm go into his. Cold and small, it gripped hard enough to make him re-evaluate his rough sketch of her. She shook his hand once, then let go.

"Now," he said, bringing his hand back, "can you tell us what exactly happened with this driver you attempted to rob?"

"Sure," she said brightly. "After you bring me a drink and some food. Last time I ate the weather was warm."

Matt swung his head to the left. "Foggy - would you mind?"

"Not at all," he said. "That is, if our client doesn't mind being on tape."

"Why?" she demanded.

Matt smiled at her. "It's hard for me to make notes as you speak, and I don't have an eidetic memory."

"I do," she said. He heard the rush of air as she attempted to suppress a gasp.

He smiled. "Well then. Tape? It's up to you."

"Tape _and_ food, please."

Foggy put his briefcase on the table and went through it, pulling out metal and plastic items, sliding them onto the table. He got up and walked around the back of Matt's chair. "What are you into? Salad? Burgers? Chow mein?"

"Oh that's right. You see I'm half asian and you think all I eat is noodles," she said suddenly.

"That's not what I—"

"Just get whatever you think is hot and worth the effort getting out of the wrapper," Matt sighed.

Foggy opened the door behind him and was gone. The door clicked shut. Matt turned his face back to her.

"You can take those off," she said flatly. "Eyes that don't work don't bother me."

He thought for a moment. "It disturbs most people."

"I'm not most people."

"I may be completely blind but I can see _that_." He put a hand up and lifted the glasses off, folding the frames and laying them on the table.

"That's better," she said, apparently pleased. "When you wear those the light makes it look like you have massive red grazes under your eyes. It's not fair."

"Fair?"

"You're a lawyer and you go round picking up new clients you feel sorry for, and you do it for free. Maybe you're guilty about something so you think this is paying people back. Maybe you genuinely want to help people. But if you're trying this hard to help another human being then you don't deserve to be beaten up for it."

"You are so right."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

His head tilted a little. "No-one ever tells you that, do they?"

"How are you going to help me, Mr Murdock?"

"I'm not sure." He paused. "First I need you to tell me exactly what happened, and I need to see what this has to do with the truck driver. If we can identify him or in any way find out why he was so angry with you and the other witness, then maybe we can find something in all that to defend you."

"Aahh - now I see," she grinned. "You're in this for your _real_ client - the woman, right?" He heard handcuffs moving and realised she must be pointing at him. "Now I see. You're trying to defend her, and that guy was going to tear her apart until he heard the cops and split."

"I'm in this to help anyone who deserves it," he said.

"Including me?"

"I've already said so."

Her chair creaked. "How did she come to be your client? You visited her out of the blue and just talked her into it too?"

"She called us from the station. One of the officers here gave her our firm's number."

A long silence made him wait, but the atmosphere was contemplative, reflective.

She cleared her throat. "Then start your tape machine. We have a lot to cover. I mean, I was the first witness. And I'm very observant."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

.

* * *

 _Thanks for following so far!_

.


	4. Catch and Release

**FOUR**

 **Catch and Release**

.

Karen looked over at Matt and his Braille display. "Is it coming through ok?" she asked.

The Braille tiles rumbled and reformed to produced a fresh line of text. Matt's fingertips went over them so fast she wondered, not the first time, how he put everything in order in his head.

"Perfect, thanks," he said. "Can you give me time to read through this? Then I'll need you to take notes for me."

"Fine by me," she said with what sounded like a wide smile in her tone. "At this rate we'll have like twenty clients by the weekend." She got up, leaving him at the desk and going out into the main office. She noticed Foggy's door open and knocked before walking in. "Coffee?"

He swung his chair round, and she found him with papers in his hands. "Help me understand this," he said desperately.

"What is it?" she asked, surprised.

"The report you've just given Matt - our new client? The girl whose real name we cannot say out loud? Her history is just nuts."

"I know, right?" Karen asked. She pulled up a chair and sat alongside his desk, resting an elbow on the wood. "No birth certificate, but she says she was born in what is now Mount Sinai Roosevelt Hospital on 10th Avenue."

"Anything to corroborate that?"

"Nothing at all. Someone with her name was enrolled in Success Academy on West 49th Street, but records show she never arrived. Years later that name was attached to a driver's licence but when I checked, the address on it is abandoned buildings outside Manhattan - it's present and correct on the map, but if anyone had even been out there they'd know it's not fit for anyone to live in." She sighed. "How do we know she's telling the truth? About her name, about any of this?"

"Close the door," he said suddenly.

She got up and shut the door before sitting back down. "What?"

Foggy leant across the desk. "Matt believes her," he whispered, barely more than air. "He got his Spidey-sense on as soon as we got in that interview room."

She giggled, her hand over her mouth. "Do you think he's wrong to believe her?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "No. But how can we defend her if we don't know if she's being truthful about any of this?"

"Matt believes she is. That's good enough for me."

"It really is, isn't it?" he asked. "Why?"

"I'm not a lawyer. I just tidy up after you two and make cases look presentable. I don't have the lawyer training that gives me a sense of who's lying to my face."

He put a hand on her arm, trapping it to the desk. "That's not fair, Karen. You're a kick-ass investigator and you don't let shit get past you. If you think this girl's lying to us, then she's probably lying to us."

She smiled. "I didn't say that. And I haven't even seen her. Don't you have to look someone in the eye before you can judge if they're being truthful?"

"Like that works for Matt," he scoffed. He pulled his hand back and then ran both through his hair. His desk phone rang and he jumped. He looked at Karen. She gestured to it and he picked it up quickly. "Uh - hello?"

"When you're done deliberating over Merissa's innocence, can I borrow Karen please?"

"Jesus, Matt! Stop eavesdropping!" Foggy cried. "And I was _whispering_ , man!"

' _How does he do that?_ ' Karen mouthed at him.

Foggy dropped the phone receiver back in its cradle. "Just go before he refuses to stump up his half for a real coffee machine."

She grinned and got up, going out of the door and into the meeting room. "Yes, Mr Murdock, what can I do for you?"

Matt's face turned up from the Braille display but his hands didn't stop moving across it. "Do you have the report of the three truck drivers?"

"Yeah - wait a second." She ducked out of the room. She came back with a sheaf of papers and a USB stick. "Uh… We have Aiden Morely, Peter Swilliger and Danny Stevenitz - and Aiden Morely is in jail anyway. Are we giving Mahoney the other two names in the morning?"

"Once we've been over their public history, yes we are," Foggy announced from behind her. He took the USB stick from her and stepped around her to go to Matt's laptop. He plugged it in and tapped a button. "There. Display conversion enabled."

"Thanks, buddy. Do you really think we should give this to Mahoney?" Matt asked.

Foggy put his hands in his pockets. "How about Detective Henrickson? She seemed like she knew what was going on with our mystery suspect-slash-witness."

"She did," Matt allowed.

"Great - so that's the morning, then. Can we blow this pop-stand already? Marci's bringing food tonight and I have to stop somewhere and get wine on the way home."

"Go, please," Matt said with a wide smile. "We're done here for today."

Foggy looked at him - just looked. Then he walked out of the room to his office, collecting his coat and briefcase. "Can I walk you home, Karen?" he called.

"If you want," she smiled, scooping up reports and papers from the table and taking it back out to her desk. "You leaving now, Matt?"

"In a while," he called through the open door. "I want to read the rest of that driver's report you did for me before I lock up."

"I made sure the windows are locked," she called back. "Do you think that guy will come back?"

"I hope not. Although it doesn't seem like it'll rain."

"You are nuts," Foggy stated flatly. "It's like all you're worried about is the place getting wet. I hope the fact that we may or may not have had confidential files taken from here does not get out, or people may think we're a firm that doesn't give a shit about protecting our clients' information."

"He's got a point," Karen said. She pulled on her coat, then went back to Foggy's office door. "Do you think it's time we got some lockable filing cabinets?"

"Put it on the To Do list for when we get a billable client," Matt said.

"Done and done. Don't work too late," she said.

He waved a hand up and she went to the front door, finding Foggy already halfway out of it. She followed him and shut the door.

Matt's smile slipped slowly away. His hands went back to the display and he adjusted settings until it began to recount files from the USB stick. He began to read everything the court system had on one Aiden Morely.

.

* * *

.

The clouds rolled slowly over the city, the threat of rain ever present as he grabbed the bottom edge of the roller shutter above him. He gave a little jump and yanked on it with all his strength and it began to unfurl toward the ground.

He stepped back as it slammed into the metal lip. Crouching down, he pulled the two edges into alignment and produced a padlock as large as his fist. He threaded it through the available rings and locked it tight.

Sniffing, he wiped at his forehead, checked his watch to find it nearly ten at night, and decided it was way past time he was heading home.

"Better business tomorrow," he said to himself as he stood back. He looked up at the wooden painted sign across the top of the shutters, proclaiming Swilliger and Daughters Co to all who passed by. Peter Swilliger turned to leave.

—And stopped in his tracks as he jumped about six inches in his own skin. "Jesus!"

"Not even close," said a figure.

Peter's eyes ran over it very carefully even as he took a step back. Dark and foreboding, the three feet between them just wasn't enough. He stepped back again. "Wait… You're him! You're him, right? That Daredevil from the newspapers?"

The figure didn't move.

Peter straightened up, emboldened by sudden excitement. "Hey - thank you, man."

"What?"

"The playground - the one by the park? My kids play there. Papers said it was you that got rid of those drug dealers, the ones using it at night."

The figure let his head rise just slightly. "You're welcome."

"My kids - they love you. They cut out all the pictures from the news. You wait till I tell 'em I _met_ you!" he grinned. "Ellie and Toni - you're their favourite. Everyone else loves those famous guys, those guys from the big battle of New York. But you're from here, right? You're actually from the Kitchen?"

"I am."

"See - that's the difference," he gushed. Then his face dimmed. "But… Why are you here? What's going down?" He jumped. "This is my truck space, man, my life. Why are you here?"

The figure turned and walked across in front of him, his head going up and down as if surveying him carefully. Then he paced back across before stepping back and looking up at the store sign. "You can't be more than six feet tall."

" _Nearly_ six feet," Peter protested. "Why?"

"How long have you owned your food truck?"

"My…? Uh… a couple years. This is my second. My first one got taken back after I couldn't make the payments on it. Tough business. This one I bought outright… which is why it's kinda rough around the edges. —But it's clean," he urged.

The figure let his head tilt. "You know any drivers that aren't so friendly?"

"Uh… I don't really mix with any other drivers. I get up, take my kids to school, then pick a street and start sellin'. I close up to go get them from school, make them dinner and put them to bed - then I come out and start again, catch the drinks crowd."

"Where were you selling two nights ago?"

"I wasn't out. Ellie was sick - I was home." He paused. "Why?"

The figure backed away one. "Sorry to disturb you. Go home to your kids." He turned away.

"Hey, wait!" Peter called.

The man stopped, but did not look back.

"You gotta… Could you like give me something for my kids? They love you, man. They say you're gonna help all of us."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. I mean… Just after Ellie was born we got robbed - they took everything. And then their mother… my wife… She's gone. Drunk driver two years ago. It's… hard. It was so tough for them to think it wasn't the city that hated us as a family. Then you show up and they think the city loves 'em again." He paused. "It's nice, you know? I come home and they tell me the papers say you did something to some guy that was hanging round a kids' playground and I see them _relieved_. I see them… I don't know… feel safe, just for a moment. Like if someone did bother 'em, you'd just come out of the shadows and kick his ass." He smiled, embarrassed. "I mean you would. Right?"

"Right."

Peter grinned. "Would you sign something for them?" he asked quietly.

"I don't do autographs."

.

* * *

.

Claire heard her phone vibrate and snatched it up. "Hello?"

"I'm on my way up."

The line clicked and she looked at the phone. "Well hello to you too, Matt." She closed it and put it back on his coffee table. She shook her head, then went to the front door.

 _That_ was when she heard the window slide up a long way behind her. She came round the slight partition to see Matt climbing in through the now gaping hole in the glass protection. She folded her arms in disapproval and waited.

He straightened up and closed the window almost silently. Then he paused and his head tilted down to his left. "What did I do?" he asked innocently.

"You could have used the door," she chided.

"There were people on the stairs. I didn't want to pass them."

She crossed the room and put her hands to the strangely firm cowl, sliding her hands down to force it back over his head, pulling the bottom free of his neck. "Is it hot in there?"

"No. Tonight was a waste, though."

"You mean you didn't get to beat anyone up?" she smiled, pulling the cowl completely free and tossing it to the couch.

"We have names of three suspects - one is in jail, and the second one… He doesn't fit your description. And he really doesn't seem the type," he sighed, heading round her and toward the kitchen area.

She flumped into the comfy chair opposite the sofa. "What was he like?"

"Barely six foot, too narrow, has a reason to keep his food licence up to date," he said, opening the fridge. He felt around and came out with a beer bottle. "You want one?"

"Please."

He put it down and put his hand back in. "You know, every time I go in here it's like things have multiplied."

"Well I've been eating out of your fridge for over twenty-four hours. I thought I'd replace some stuff. And then I realised how much of your beer I drink when I'm here and I felt guilty."

"You can _have_ the beer, Claire," he smiled. He closed the door and picked up the two bottles, twisting off the caps before carrying them over. He stopped dead. "Wait - where's your bag?"

"In the bedroom. Why?"

"Uhm… little tip for living with blind people: do not move the furniture. Little tip for living with me: do not put something made of fabric on top of something _else_ made of fabric. It makes it invisible."

She frowned. "Oh my—. So when you went ass-over-tea-kettle last night, it was because you didn't know my bag was there?"

"Couldn't detect it," he said pointedly.

"But I thought you could sense these things!"

"I know how many steps it is to everything in this apartment," he said, ambling over with the two beers. "I know the angle of the chairs and the table. I know where everything should be because that's where I left them. What I _can't_ always detect is where your bag is when it's lying on the floor. It doesn't exactly give off heat or movement."

"Shit. I'm sorry," she heaved. "I should have thought, I mean—"

"It's fine, Claire," he said. He handed her a bottle and she took it slowly, watching him sit himself on the sofa.

She considered him leisurely. "It's kinda funny, seeing you in that costume just sitting on the couch drinking beer. If only the real world knew. I should tell the papers."

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Imagine the fans you'd get," she teased. "The endorsement deals from beer companies!"

"I already have fans," he managed, taking a long pull of the beer.

"What?"

"The driver I went to see, tonight. It's not him, but… He said something. About his kids thinking I was a hero."

"You _are_. Anyone who can make a difference like you do is a hero."

He smiled slightly. "He asked me for an autograph - for his two young daughters."

"See? Next they'll be making action figures of you," she teased. Her smile shrank. "Wait - what did you say to him?"

"I didn't have the heart to tell him I haven't written anything down since I was nine." He paused to sip his beer. "But I gave him something to impress his kids."

"What could you possibly do? Wait - did you record a ringtone for them?" she laughed.

"Nope. I am reliably informed that Peter Swilliger and I have been immortalised in a selfie. He said his girls were going to go nuts."

Claire nearly spat out a mouthful of beer. "Matt! You can't go round taking selfies with people you help!"

"I didn't help him - he gave _me_ some information. And… he was a nice guy. The kind of person I'm doing this for."

She shook her head. "You are cracked," she said, pointing at him with the top finger formerly wrapped round her beer bottle.

"Just a little," he nodded. He set the half full bottle on the table and got up. "I need a shower. Early start in the morning."

"Me too - I have an eight hour shift that will no doubt turn into twelve. If I'm not here when you get back tomorrow, I'll be at the hospital."

"I have no idea what time I'll get back tomorrow - that street girl who tried to rob the driver? She's our new client. We'll need to bail her out - soon."

"What?" she demanded.

"She's living out of dumpsters, Claire. I have a passing familiarity with what they smell like. …And I don't think she would have tried to hold up a truck for money if she had any other way to eat."

"So what are you going to do, find her a job and an apartment when this is all done?" she asked. "Who's going to save her this time - Matt Murdock or Daredevil?"

There was no answer and she turned to look around the chair, but the bathroom door was sliding shut behind him. She bit her lip, thought for a moment, and then finished her beer.

When the sound of the shower stopped and the door slid open again, she turned in the chair to see him padding his way toward the bedroom wrapped in a towel from the waist down. She put her bottle on the table and whisked his up, turned, and went to the bedroom doorjamb. She leant on it.

He paused halfway round the bed. "Yes?"

"Nothing. Carry on."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to watch."

He smiled before his chin lifted a shade, as if poking his nose in the air just a little. "Is that my beer or yours?"

"Yours." She crossed the room softly to him. Her hand went out to his chin and she leant in slowly. He appeared to be waiting. She slid her hand into the dripping hair at the back of his head and he grinned. She kissed him, relishing the lingering smell of the soap and the slick wet of his hair.

He lifted his head abruptly. "Claire—"

"Don't tell me we shouldn't be doing this," she said quietly. "I _know_ , ok? This is stupid, and it's going to end in tears. But…" She huffed, her hand falling away to trace over his shoulder. "Things happen to you, and me. What if one of us isn't here tomorrow? We could have this, at least for a little, before…" Her voice trailed off.

"I feel bad for Foggy," he mused.

"Foggy? Why?"

He smiled a little ruefully. "Well he just seemed so excited that you were going to be staying here and… I don't know. I feel horrible, keeping this from him when I know he'd be throwing us some huge Macy's Day Parade or something."

"I got the impression it was no-one's business but ours," she said quietly.

"It's not safe." He frowned, his head tilting. "You were hurt before because of me. I won't let that happen again."

"You've been hurt so many times because of this city," she shot back. "It's not all on you, Matt."

"And it shouldn't be on _you_ ," he countered. "When this case is done…"

"When this case is done… so are we," she said quietly. "It's not what I want, but… I understand."

He swallowed. His head turned away. "Yeah."

She sipped at the beer before walking to the bedside table and setting it down. "Now I've kind of ruined things, haven't I?"

She felt his hand on her shoulder, sliding down her back, and then suddenly his lips were on her neck, moving up behind her ear. She grinned and leant into it, before turning around. She kissed him, catching him a little off-balance.

Her fingers slipped round his side to the towel. They twisted and yanked. It fell away.

"Hey!" he protested.

She grinned. "Whoops."

.

* * *

.

Karen found the front door to the offices unlocked. She stepped in gingerly, poking her head around the door to see two figures in the far room to her right. She frowned. Then she pulled herself together and closed the door behind her, carried her bag and coat to her desk, and put everything down noisily.

"Hey boys!" she called. "What time did you get in?"

Chairs scraped and voices stopped. She looked around to see Foggy leaning out of the doorway. "Morning, trusted faithful assistant! We were just drawing up a battle plan."

Her eyes flicked to her watch and then back to him. "At half past eight in the morning?"

"I got here about ten minutes ago. Matt was already in."

"Already?" She curled hair around her ear. "Oh."

"He said the couch was lumpy." Foggy paused to look behind him. "Yes you did. Wait a minute." He looked back at Karen. "Could you do us a really huge favour and get us some coffee?"

"Ok, but if you moan about how it tastes _again_ Foggy Nelson, I'll order in a long-overdue Tassimo machine," she smiled.

Foggy smile apologetically. "I'll strong-arm Matt into seriously considering doing it for you."

She smiled and whisked her way out of the door.

Foggy dived to close the door to the meeting room hastily. "What were you saying? You're sure it's not this Peter Swilliger guy?"

Matt, sitting opposite him, nodded. "Definitely. Wrong build, he's never been in trouble with the law."

"Are you sure? Just because he suckered you into taking a selfie - which is _awesome_ , in case you were wondering - this does not mean he's a good guy."

Matt smiled. "I know. That's why I read up on his public history before you came in this morning. His licence was _not_ for where Claire was attacked - he would have been across town, with customers, when that happened."

"And why wasn't he?" Foggy pressed.

"Because he was at the hospital with his youngest daughter Ellie - worried about a fever she had. Any one of a hundred staff could ID him."

"You could have led with that," Foggy sighed. "So who's next on the list?"

"Danny Stevenitz," Matt said. "But I don't have the Braille report of his record."

"Then I'll have to read it to you. It'll be like old times," Foggy grinned.

"Or you could just get the online edition so I could put it through this display," he smiled, tapping the machine under his fingers.

"Nah - you love my voice, you know you do," Foggy said dismissively. "Besides, you should give your fingers a rest. God knows what you've been doing with them while Claire's been in your apartment."

"Foggy—"

"I know, I know," he protested, hands up in surrender. "It's 'not like that'. It _could_ be like that, Matthew Killjoy Murdock, and you know it."

Matt opened his mouth. It stalled. He closed it again.

Foggy nodded. "Right. So… Danny Stevenitz…" He found his place in the manilla folder of information in front of him. "Ok. Listen carefully." He cleared his throat. "Right, so this guy was arrested three years ago for—. Whoa. For assault and battery - _of his sister_." He paused to shake his head. "He did six months, out with time served… Then he was cautioned for DUI, and _then_ he was questioned regarding his involvement in some smuggling out by the docks."

"Only questioned?" Matt asked. "With his history?"

"Dude - guess who his lawyer was?"

"Marci?"

"Not funny."

"I know, Foggy - sorry. Who was it?"

He sniffed, waiting a few seconds. "Anita Alvarez," he said. "On retainer from Union Allied."

Matt sat back in his chair, a pensive look on his face. "So… it's possible he was connected to Fisk in some way. And now he's beating up kids that try to steal from him?"

"Doesn't make sense," Foggy said, letting the folder flap to the desk. "If he was on Fisk's payroll, then one, why wasn't he arrested with everyone else, and two, what's he doing running an illegal lunch truck, of all things? I mean, isn't that beneath him?"

Matt shrugged. "Maybe he didn't know anything. Maybe… he's just struggling to get by, now his role in delivering some black market whatever is gone."

"Yeah, well. We need to find this guy and check him out."

"Absolutely. And by that you mean _you'll_ find out where he's going to be so our mutual friend with the horns can check him out later."

Foggy pouted. "Sometimes I think you only dress up so you can have all the fun."

"You're right; it's so much fun to get the hell beaten out of you in an alleyway," he said flatly.

Foggy got up. " _This_ job _could_ be fun. We could go to a few of those parties that those _begging_ companies hold, use our comp'd tickets to get into ball games - you know, all the stuff we would have had through Landman and Zack, but now get because this city knows we're awesome avocados at law."

"There's nothing to stop you taking Marci," Matt said with a winning smile.

"You're a dick." He paused as Matt chuckled at him. "But you're right - she'd fit right in. She's classy, she's developing a conscience, and she can talk her way round all the bigwigs at these fancy-ass functions." He sighed as he gathered up his notes. "She wouldn't need me there."

Matt's smile shrank. "Don't sell yourself short, buddy. She'd be the classy one, but you'd be the fun one everyone would remember."

Foggy looked at him for a long moment. "You know what? You're right. I'm going to see if Cinders wants to go to the next ball we get invited to."

"Good luck," Matt laughed. "Although I'd say she's more Ellen Ripley than Cinderella."

"Hey, Ripley was kick-ass hot," Foggy said sternly. He paused. "I see what you mean. I'm getting lunch. You _stay here_ until I bring food back, ok? Don't go saving the city in the time it takes me to get to the deli and back."

"I promised our client I'd go bail her out of the station," he said.

"What? How and why? And where is _she_ going to stay?"

"Karen's already agreed to let her stay with her - you know, seeing as Karen's place has _plenty of room_ for guests right now."

"Ok, so I lied about Karen not taking guests," Foggy said. "But come _on_ , Matt. Claire is so good for you. I won't keep flogging this dead horse, but _seriously_ , for your own _good_ , just let yourself enjoy a good thing, will you?"

"I'll take it under advisement," he said quietly.

Foggy sighed. "Well ok. Sorry, dude. I'll… just… stop bringing it up." He sniffed. "So I'm coming to the station with you, right?"

"I thought you were getting us all lunch."

"Well this kid eats her own body weight every hour apparently - we get her out, I buy lunch, we get her to Karen's. Deal?"

"Sounds good. Let me pack up here."

"Ok." Foggy walked out of the office.

Matt got up, stretched, and began to pack his things back into his briefcase.

.

* * *

.

Detective Henrickson stood outside the bars to the cell, one hand on her hip, the other with keys in it. "You are only released because these two vouched for you, ok?" she said sternly. The lawyers behind her shuffled their feet.

But Merissa rolled her eyes from the safety of the thin, uncomfortable bunk attached to the wall. "I got it."

"So do as they say and co-operate with us, and all this could be fixed in no time," Henrickson went on.

"I said I got it, ok? Just let me out already."

Foggy stepped closer to the bars. "We brought food," he said cheerfully. "And Matt has a safe place for you to stay."

"What am I, a stray dog?" she replied tartly.

"Detective, if you'd be so kind," Matt said.

Henrickson shot him an amused glance before she unlocked the cell. She pulled the door open, stepping back and waiting. Merissa stood up slowly, tossed long black hair over her shoulder, and stepped over the exit. She pulled her leather jacket straight and looked up at Foggy.

"You got me out. Thank you. Now where's the food and where do you want me to go?" she asked.

Foggy smiled and lifted a plastic bag in his right hand. "I got a selection. We eat back at the office while we go over a few questions."

"Cool," she shrugged. She squeezed between them all but slowed to hook her hand through Matt's bent arm. "You're with me, Four Eyes." She walked off, pulling at his arm. He had no choice but to accompany her down the corridor and around to the booking area.

Foggy looked at Henrickson. "Thanks for doing the paperwork."

"No trouble. But just watch that one - if she goes AWOL, it's on your firm."

"This I know," Foggy sighed. "But hey - we haven't lost a client yet." He nodded to her with a smile and turned away, hurrying to catch up with the others.

.


	5. Seconds Out

**FIVE**

 **Seconds Out**

.

Karen opened her apartment door, stepping and turning round to see Merissa with her hand round Matt's arm as the two of them waited on her doorstep.

Merissa let go of him and wandered in to look around. "Not bad," she nodded, plunging her hands in her pockets.

"There are rules," Matt said as he walked in.

Karen closed the door behind him. "We can work those out later."

"No," he said firmly. He turned toward Merissa. "This is Karen's home. This is her life, where she lives, where she's safe. You do _not_ mess this place up, Merissa. Respect other people's boundaries and everything will be fine."

The young woman raised her eyebrows at him. "Wow. You got kids, Mr Murdock?"

"What? No."

"Too bad. You'd be good at lecturing."

"I'm a lawyer. It's my job to lecture everyone about everything."

She pointed at him, her thumb straight up, and clicked her teeth in amusement. "Good point well made, counsellor." She wandered across the front room, her eyes running over everything, her hands back in her pockets.

Karen went toward the kitchen. "You want a drink?"

"You got any beer?" Merissa asked. "—Please?"

Karen smiled. "I guess."

"Thanks." She ambled further afield, until she stopped dead and looked round at Matt. "Stop that."

"Are you talking to me?" he asked, surprised.

"Well I don't see anyone else here."

"Neither do I."

"Funny," she smiled. "Stop watching me."

"I can't 'watch' you, Merissa."

"Then stop making me feel like you're staring at me."

"I _told_ you people think unseeing eyes are creepy," he pointed out slowly.

"It's not that. You've got your glasses on and you're not even pointing in my direction but I _still_ feel like I'm being watched."

"Sounds like your problem, not mine."

"I like you, Mr Murdock," she grinned.

"Well that's certainly going to help our case," he smiled.

"Shut up," she teased. She looked over as Karen came back into the room, two open beer bottles in her hand.

"Here you go," she said, handing one to Merissa. "So. Where do you want to sleep?"

"The floor is cool," she said matter-of-factly. "Thanks for the beer."

"You're not having the floor," Karen frowned. "I have a halfway decent couch and plenty of soft stuff."

"I'm used to it," Merissa shrugged. She sipped her beer. "Nice."

"So can I leave you two ladies to it?" Matt asked. "I've got more work at the office and I've got my own houseguest to check on."

"Of course," Karen said, her eyes going to the floor immediately. She pushed hair out of her way to curl it round her ear.

Merissa looked slowly from Karen to Matt. Then she sniffed. "Yeah, we'll be ok here. Maybe Karen's got some good TV to watch. You ever binge-watch an entire season?" she asked.

Karen smiled. "I'm not up to date with anything, sorry."

"Well I've kind of been at a TV disadvantage lately myself," Merissa smiled. "You want to start something off?"

Karen looked at Matt. "Uh - I think we'll be fine here. Say hi to Claire for me."

"Um. Ok," he managed. He turned for the door and then slid his hand along the wall, finding the doorknob easily enough. "See you in the morning."

"Ok," Karen said. She waited until he had left, then pushed the door closed and locked it securely. She turned her back and leant on it.

"So… how long you been crushing on ol' Four Eyes, there?" Merissa asked slyly.

"What? Don't be ridiculous," she said, straightening up and crossing the room.

"Hey - it's ok. I'm not going to tell him. It's none of my business. I think you should say something, though. And who's Claire?"

Karen went to the television and turned it on, picking up the remote and making sure the volume was low before flicking to the TV guide. "She's a client. The woman who saw you try to rob the truck - the one the driver attacked."

"Oh right - she was cool. She hit him with like this broken chair or something. I _told_ the cops she didn't hurt me, but hey. Who are they going to believe? Me or a doughnut-muncher who thinks he knows better?"

Karen paused. "You told Matt and Foggy all this, right?"

"Everything, I swear," she said. She sipped her beer. "You're ok, Karen. I mean, for this city."

"What's wrong with this city?"

"Everything," Merissa sighed. "That's why I opted out."

"You _chose_ to live outside of society?"

"Pretty much. Why be in a race you never volunteered for?"

"If everyone thought that way Matt and Foggy wouldn't be lawyers and you wouldn't be free right now."

Merissa appeared to consider this. "I'll give you that one," she nodded. "Now. TV? And is it rude if I ask you to buy us pizza? It's going dark outside so I guess it's pretty late."

Karen smiled. "You choose the show. I don't care what we watch," she said, handing her the remote. "And I'll spring for pizza tonight."

"Thanks," Merissa said, taking the remote and looking it up and down. "You got Netflix on this?"

.

* * *

.

Claire's eyes opened and she smiled to herself despite the gloom. The thin curtains taunted her with tales of approaching dawn and she gathered sheets and blankets under her chin, turning onto her right side.

Her left hand went out but the other side of the bed was empty; she frowned and pushed herself to sit up. She pushed herself up out of bed and padded round to the room. With all the lights out, it was left to the obtrusive advertising neons to aid her search.

Her eyes were drawn to the large cupboard doors and she spotted the left one slightly ajar. She sighed. She ran her hands through her hair. She went back to the bedroom and settled back down to sleep in the large, cooling bed.

And stared at the empty side, praying and hoping.

.

* * *

.

A lone air-con unit buzzed away in the corner of the office as he rocked the wooden chair back on its rear legs. The radio on the table under his heels told tales of weather, news, and then the latest chart-topper. He pulled his phone from his sleeveless shirt pocket and pressed at the home button, his eyes scanning for new messages. A curse and a huff and he was slipping it back into his breast pocket.

The door opened. He leapt up from his chair and lunged for the figure in the doorway.

It whirled round so fast his fist flew into empty air. Instead a fist coated in dark red hammered into his head. He flew backwards into the wall. Two hands grabbed his shirt and the next thing he knew, he was flying through the air and landing smack on his back.

"Stop!" he cried desperately. "Please! Stop!"

But a hand grabbed his flannel shirt and the other slammed into his face. It drew back again but waited. A voice, angry but muted, cut the sound of panicked, pained breathing. "Danny Stevenitz."

"Don't hit me again, man!" he panted.

The hand hammered into his head. "That's for your sister."

"What the hell!"

Again the fist punched into his face. "That's for not knowing _why_ that was for your sister."

"Aargh! Ok! I get it!"

"Where were you three nights ago?"

"What? I - I don't know!"

The hand ploughed back into his head.

"Aargh! Alright! Ok! Let me breathe!" Danny shouted.

"Tell me where you were three nights ago."

"In my truck! I was sellin' - I was by the bridge!" he cried desperately.

"I don't believe you." The hand pummelled into his face - twice. " _Where were you?_ "

"Argh! I can't—." He panted in air. "I can't - can't think - wait."

"Too late." Again the fist whammed him into the floor. "Where were you?"

"Truck," he heaved. He managed to open his eyes. He squinted. "Shit! It's you!"

 _Slam_ went the fist. " _Where were you?_ "

"Ok! Ok, man! I ain't going to argue with you!" He drew in air, grasped at the wrist holding him to the floor. "By the bridge. I was under the bridge all night."

"Who saw you there?"

"A coupla kids - they bought from me."

"What were kids doing buying food under a bridge?"

"Not food, man. The _other_ supply."

 _Wham_. A bloody tooth, the spray of the copper taint over his lips and nose. _Slam_.

"You're selling _drugs_ under the bridge?" the voice raged.

"Yeah. That's all, I swear!"

"That's more than enough."

Suddenly the hands were gone. Danny coughed and spluttered blood. He put one hand to his nose, the other to the floor, struggling to right himself. He blinked through the sweat and tears of pain to see a figure standing by the table, watching.

"Here's how it's going to go," the figure said.

"Wh-what?"

"You're going to leave my city. Because if you don't I will find you and next time you will not get back up. Do you understand me?"

Danny leant back on the wall, staring, his nose still gushing blood. "Whatever, man. You're him, right? You're the daredevil?"

"I'm the one who knows what you do when you think no-one's looking," he growled. "Remember, Danny - I'm watching you. You've got a day to pack up and leave."

"I can't leave! This is my home!"

"No. It's not."

Danny put a hand up. But the figure spun so fast Danny didn't see the boot that crashed into his head. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

The figure walked up to him. His head tilted down to survey the pile of human for a long moment. Then he turned and walked out of the door. It slammed closed behind him, smashing the half window.

.

* * *

.

Merissa turned down the TV one more step on the volume control. Watching Karen all the while, she got up from the sofa and crept round to study her.

Clearly so deeply asleep she could not have been woken by the TV anyway, Karen moved slightly to be more comfortable. Merissa stepped back one. She picked up the blanket next to her on the sofa and laid it over her gently. Then she went to the front door and let herself out.

A quick creep across the hall found the stairs; she leapt down them two at a time and was out on the street a few moments later. She zipped up her brown leather jacket and pulled her jeans straight before walking down the street.

She crossed the road and headed on down. She walked and walked - she checked every alley before she stopped, tired and frustrated. Then she turned down the next alley and found the nearest dumpster. She climbed in, rummaged around for a few moments, and then leapt back out. She pulled the matchbook out of her pocket and struck one, before lighting the entire book. She tossed it back into the dumpster and ran for the darkness of the top end of the alley.

.

* * *

.

Karen stirred. She rubbed an eye as she sat up straight. "Sorry - today's been a long one." She looked at the other side of the sofa and found it empty. "Shit!"

She leapt off the sofa and checked the bedroom and bathroom before going back to the living room and then checking the kitchenette. Her head snapped round to the windows and she ran over. She heaved up the largest one and peered out into the darkness.

"Merissa!" he shouted. "Merissa! Get back here!" She thumped at the window ledge out of pure anger. "Stupid, Karen! That was stupid!" she hissed. "First you lose her, then you shout her real name over the friggin' rooftops. Smart."

She pulled back inside and closed the window. Then she went to the kitchenette and put the kettle on to boil, taking down the jar of instant coffee crystals.

.

* * *

.

Merissa waited.

Presently blue lights appeared. The dumpster was still burning nicely as a car parked at the top of the alleyway. Its doors were left wide open as two officers got out and wandered off down the dark alley, guns raised, shouting for a response.

She grinned and dashed out of the gloom. She slid into the passenger seat and kept her head down. Her hands went to the computer between the seats. She tapped at the keyboard hastily. Her head popped up to see through the steering wheel, checking where the two men were. She looked back down as she tapped at more keys. "Come on, come on," she urged.

The screen showed an irritating connection symbol. Suddenly it blinked into a result that made her smile. She pressed at the button on the side and a small print-out came out of the bottom. "Come in KDC 2190, your time is _up_ ," she grinned. She ripped off the paper, pushed it down inside her shirt, and slithered back out of the car. Hiding behind the open door, she looked over the top to check the position of the two officers. Seeing them walking backward from the dumpster, still on radios, she swore and backed up along the side of the car. She waited, watching. Then she turned and ran.

She was two blocks away before she stopped. She propped her hands on her knees and bent over to get her breath back. Gulping in air, she listened carefully for police sirens. She heard nothing. She straightened up and backed into the doorway behind her. The doorways of the buildings to her left and right watched as she wiped at her face, then grinned to herself.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

She jumped about six inches in her skin at the low voice. She looked up and to her right. A figure in dark red was crouching on the overhanging ledge of the next doorway, looking as if he had been there all night and would be quite comfortable for some time to come.

"Holy shit!" She turned and ran.

She turned down the next street, and the next, then the next. She twisted to get through the bars at the end of the alley. She leapt up on top of the nearest dumpster to grab for the fence. She scrambled up over the top before dropping to her boots and haring off down the dark street.

She came to an abrupt stop. Panting hard, swallowing in air, she backed up into the shadows. The darkness swallowed her up as she melted into the v-shaped nook between buildings. She sank to a crouch, her hands out to the damp stone either side of her, her eyes searching the gloomy street.

Minutes ticked away. Still she waited, watching, fearing, breathing.

Nothing.

Eventually she took a deep breath and slumped bank against the buildings. Her hand went into her jacket, then inside her shirt, to pull at the piece of paper.

A pair of dark red boots dropped from above and landed a figure right in front of her. "Did you get what you wanted?" it repeated casually.

"Aw come _on_ , man!" she protested angrily. "What do you want with me?"

The figure crouched. A gloved hand went out and grasped her wrist. She watched, intrigued, as it simply turned it out and round to pull the piece of paper into view.

"No!" she barked. She snatched the paper with her left hand.

The hand let go. "What is it?"

"It's _mine_."

"You started a fire in a dumpster just to get that from a police car. I'm going to say it's a licence plate trace."

"You're pretty smart for a guy who dresses up like a Hallowe'en parade contestant."

"You're not as smart as I thought you were. Otherwise you wouldn't be breaking the law to get information that you _know_ other people can get for you."

"Technically I _wasn't_ breaking the l—"

"I'm pretty sure pretending to a be a police officer to pass security clearance to use an officer's computer - and the NYPD's database - is illegal."

She poked her tongue out at him. "Says you. The papers say you go around bashing people's heads in. That's not exactly legal, is it?"

"There are always limits."

"I met mine a long time ago. Now there _are_ no limits, only what I need."

The figure tilted his head, pulling back slightly. "People are looking for you."

"No-one knows who I am. Not any more."

"A woman opened her home to you. You ran from her place and went straight out to find a police car with a computer you could use to trace that licence plate. But that woman you ran from - she's worried about you."

She scoffed deep in her throat, shaking her head. "She's worried her lawyer boss is going to be angry with her for losing me, that's all."

"You could have just asked someone for help."

"Yeah? Like who?" she demanded. "The people I asked for help when my mother needed it? The people I asked for help when my dad was beating her? The people I asked for help when he got away with it and beat her to _death_ for daring to _ask for help?_ "

His head went down as if appraising the ground. "I'm sorry."

"Well isn't everybody," she spat. "Not sorry enough to stop it happening again. It's all around us, freak. No-one even cares."

His head came back up. "You read the papers?"

"What if I do?"

"Two men, last week. Beaten until their battered wives couldn't recognise them. Three weeks in hospital fed through a tube. Week before that? One more, and one who knocked down a young boy to steal his smartphone."

"You did all that?" she asked quietly.

The tiny smile that tipped up the side of his mouth confused her. "I may have gotten carried away. It's been known to happen."

She raised her hand, wagging a finger at him. "You remind me of someone."

"If you say Deadpool I will—"

"No," she grinned. She rested back against the wall. "So… how is this going to work? Are you going to walk me to that woman's apartment to make sure I'm safe, and I just give you this information on this piece of paper?"

"That's one possibility."

"Do I want to know what the others are?"

"I don't think so."

"Right." She sighed.

"Ask for help. Of me, of anyone. It doesn't make you weak. It means you know how to delegate."

She grinned. "Delegate?"

The figure shrugged.

"Ok then: help me up _please_ ," she smiled.

He stood and put a hand out. She gripped his palm and hauled herself to her feet. He stood back as she dusted herself down. Then she looked up at him, folding her arms.

"Well?" he asked.

"You're not as tall as I thought," she said. She put her hands in her pockets and began to walk down the alley. "Are you coming?" She began to turn back. "I'm sorry I called you a fr—." She tutted; the street was empty. "Typical. Never there when you need them," she grumbled.

"I'll be around," said a voice from above her.

She turned to look up and found him standing on the low roof to her right. "Will you cut it out? I already think you're awesome, ok?"

"Hand that licence plate to someone you trust," he said.

She huffed and looked at her boots. "What if I don't trust anyone? I learnt that from _The X-Files_." She looked up.

The roof was empty.

She smiled, put her hands in her pockets, and walked off.

.

* * *

.

Karen burst into the offices of Nelson and Murdock, dumped all her things down on the desk, and raced round to Matt's room. Finding it empty, she spun and hurried over to Foggy's door. She swung it open and grinned at the occupant. "Hey! Look what I've got!"

He looked up. "Well it's not coffee. Or is it? Wait - did you buy a machine?" he asked.

"Not coffee. Forget the coffee." She came round his desk and sat on the edge. She brandished a slip of paper at him. "Here."

He took hold of it. "KDC 2190. What is that? A licence plate?"

"Of a truck. A truck that someone tried to rob, and then ran from."

"Holy guacamole on the side," he whispered. He looked up at her. "Did Troubled Teen give you this?"

"She's eighteen. And yes, she did," she grinned. "She kind of ran out on me in the middle of the night, but then came back. She _apologised_ , and gave me this."

Foggy frowned. "She said she was sorry? Whoa. What happened to give her a huge 'tude adjustment?"

"She wouldn't say. I can't figure her out - she made me breakfast to say she was sorry and she even brought me coffee."

"She made you coffee? How guilty was she feeling?"

"No - she was on my doorstep with like a grande venti super large giant mocha," she grinned. "In the wrong light she could be mistaken for an angel."

"Uh… Karen," he said carefully.

Her grin shrank. "What?"

"You _do_ know she has absolutely zero money, right?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. She may have just ripped off a coffee house to get you that."

"Shit."

"Yeah. But hey - her heart's in the right place," he said with an optimistic smile.

Karen shook her head, then got up off the desk. "What do you want to do with this licence plate number?"

"I think we should give Matt the good news. Our little runaway might have just found our mysteriously missing truck - and blown this whole case wide open. Then we check the registered owner on this little slip of paper and prepare to defend _two_ women from the evils of this city."

"Sounds like a plan," she grinned. She paused. "Matt's not in yet."

Foggy looked at his watch. "It's not nine. Give him time; I guarantee he'll be through that door in the next ten minutes."

.

* * *

.

Claire wandered back into the bedroom in a towel, rubbing her hair with a much smaller example. She frowned at the lump in the bed. "Hey - superhero. Get your super-ass out of bed. You need to go to your dayjob."

The lump grunted something indecipherable. She dropped the small towel to the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. Her hand went to the top and she folded it back to find Matt face down, spread across the mattress as if he would be charged for any part not used.

She shoved at his shoulder. "Hey. Are you alive?"

"No," he grumbled into the mattress.

"Any new stab wounds I should know about? Anything broken this morning?"

"No."

"So get up. It's nearly nine. You're going to get a phone call in about twenty minutes asking where you are."

"I'm a senior partner in the firm. They can't fire me," he muttered.

"That's true. But you have cases to prepare and… whatever. Like defending _me_ , for example. And whoever this other witness is. The street kid."

"Her name's—. She's not just a street kid. She's just… messed up."

"Right. So _get up_." She stood and went to her bag on the other side of the room, picking it up to sit it on the chair. "The sooner you clear this up, the sooner I can get home to my clothes."

"You want to leave?"

She paused and let go of the bag. She turned back to look at the bed. "That's not what I meant." She wandered back and sat on the nearest edge. "Maybe you should only work your secret nightshifts at weekends. I mean, they're going to notice at the office that you're always exhausted. And bruised."

"I'll be fine."

"My ass," she snorted. "Come on - up up up." She grabbed the blankets and ripped them all back. He began to curl into a protective ball. She grinned and her fingers went into his side.

"Argh! No! Stop!" he cried.

"I've never heard such fear in a man's voice," she laughed, her voice evil, as her fingers tickled and attacked.

"Stop! Claire! No!"

"You baby!"

"Ah - I can't - ah!"

"Wow - what a superhero!"

"Argh - stop - please - that _hurts!_ "

She froze. "Are you in pain? Where?"

He flopped onto his back, glassy eyes in the vague direction of the ceiling. He put a hand up and pressed a finger into his chest. "Here."

"What, like a rib? A muscle? What?"

"My pride."

She slapped at his finger. He laughed out loud - until she leant over and bit at his skin. He tried to fight her off but her bites suddenly morphed into a much softer, much more needful attack. His hand stopped pushing and instead pulled. She shrieked with laughter as he folded an arm round her and rolled her on top of him, her towel falling over the side of the bed.

"Ah! You shit!" she laughed.

His hand slid up her face. She grinned as he tipped it down toward her. She closed her eyes and leant into his touch, feeling it slide gently, riding the contours of her cheek. She felt his breath on her mouth - and then she kissed him.

"You're going to be _really_ late for the office," she managed.

"Foggy's always telling me to relax," he grinned. "He'd say I can be late for one goddamn day."

She chuckled and ran her hand into his hair. "Then let's make it worth it."

.

* * *

.

Merissa took the phone from the wall next to Karen's kitchen counter. She thought for a moment, then dialled. She waited. "Karen - yeah, it's me. I haven't trashed your place, don't worry." She listened for a moment. "Is Four Eyes there? I've got something to tell him." She frowned. "Oh. No - I'll wait for him. I'll come to you. If he's not there yet then I've got time to make a stop first. He wants me to what? Go over the questions and whatever for court? Sure. When I get there. And I've got loads to tell him about that daredevil guy running around the streets, too." She grinned. "Yeah! I totally spent half the night with him as my bodyguard. Well first he was watching me, then I actually _spoke_ to him. He was hot." She laughed. "I know, right? That ass. —No I did _not_ tell him that. Awkward." She chuckled. "Anyways, I'll be in soon."

She put the phone back, then snatched up her leather jacket from the back of the sofa. She turned and left the apartment.

A brisk walk and a few shortcuts through particularly unsavoury alleyways had her coming out at a busy street. She watched the traffic for a while, then sniffed to herself and darted through the lines of cabs and cars with catlike agility. She heard the car horns and angry language but simply flipped up her middle finger as she walked along the pavement. She stopped by a shopfront, its grey rollers down and locked up. The door cut into it was slightly open, however. She looked left and right before ducking in.

The mechanic's bay was dark and smelt of engine oil. She stood still, checking the whole vista. An empty inspection pit was surrounded by tall red Snap-On tool cabinets, spare tyres and random tools just lying about. A voice caught her attention to her right. She looked over to see a door opening and a man walking out with a cell phone in his hand. He shouted something down it before pressing angrily at a key and pocketing the device. He looked up.

"Garage don't open till midday, sweetheart," he grumbled.

She appraised his huge shoulders, his well over six foot size, his messy, deep brown hair and dark eyes. Her hand went out to the Snap-On cabinet next to her and without looking, her fingers slid round a large wrench. "Was that him? On the phone?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Louis Wendorf. Was it him?"

The man's face darkened. "What's it to you?"

"Well, it's like this," she said with a smile. "See my face? The black eye, the stitches in my forehead, the cut lip?"

His eyes narrowed. "Do I… know you?"

"You friggin' should - you tried to beat the crap out of me a few nights back. I'm here to say thanks."

"You!" He reached for her.

She swung the wrench as hard as she could. It smashed into his face. He was jerked off balance and thrown to the floor.

She looked back at the tool case and picked up a large hammer. "That Thor guy likes these. Let's see why."

She stepped up to him and swung the hammer back like a baseball bat.

His hand shot out and grabbed her ankle. He yanked and she went down. He grabbed her by the throat. The hammer tumbled from her grip. Her thumb went into his right eye. He cried out in pain and squeezed her windpipe.

Her boot shot up into his groin. As he _oomf_ 'd and lost purchase on her neck she scrabbled back across the concrete floor. She flipped to her hands and knees and raced for the hammer. Her hand connected with it just as she heard a gun being cocked.

"Shit!" She threw herself at the hammer. She grabbed it up and rolled behind the tool cabinet.

A shot cracked so loud she jumped. Another _ping_ 'd off the metal cabinet behind her. She hefted the hammer in both hands. She pulled her knees up to her chest. Her hands tightened on the handle as she heard boots approaching the other side of her makeshift shield.

"Come out of there!" he raged.

"Screw you! If you touch me my friend Daredevil will _rip you into pieces!_ "

"You'll be _dead_."

"Then he'll make it hurt more!" she hurled angrily. "He's _got_ this city, dude! There's nowhere you can hide! Not from him! You better run, _asshole!_ "

The boots stopped by the cabinet. She growled in fury as she jumped up and swung her hammer with all her weight.

He fired.

.

* * *

.

The door to Nelson and Murdock opened and Matt walked in, pausing to lean his cane up by the door.

"You made it - and with eight minutes to spare," Karen grinned from her seat. "Foggy said to wait until eleven then go out and start checking for open manhole covers," she chuckled. He turned to face her and she blinked. "You ok? You look… rough."

"Hey, I showered and everything," he smiled.

She looked him up and down. "You sure you're ok?" she asked, surprised. "Not that it's any of my business why you look like you've just run the Boston marathon."

His mouth opened. It worked for a second in silence. Then it closed. He turned left to his room. "I'll - uh - be in my - um - office," he managed.

She cleared her throat and made her eyes go back to her laptop. "Oh - hey," she called, getting up. She went to the doorway and looked in. He was making his way to the desk, his hand sweeping across it to check it was empty before he set his briefcase down. She took a step in, knowing her heels would click on the floor. "Merissa called. She's on her way in. Apparently she has a lot to tell you," she smiled.

"And she couldn't tell you or Foggy?" he asked as he sat down.

"She said she'd wait for you but she had to make a stop first. I just hope she's not stealing more coffee…"

"Did you say stealing?"

"Forget it." She smiled and walked back to her desk.

Foggy appeared from his own doorway. "Anything on our young client yet?"

"Nothing," Karen said. "Maybe she's appropriating us a working photocopier."

Foggy grinned. "We can hope not." He crossed the room to look in Matt's doorway. "Jesus! What happened to you?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Matt sighed. "What do I _look_ like?"

"You know those parties we used to go to, back when we were young dudes studying law, and we'd party all night till we were exhausted to within an inch of our lives - like four a.m.? Then hours later we had to look presentable so we basically scrubbed ourselves clean, shaved really carefully, and put on clean suits? _That's_ what you look like," Foggy scoffed. "What the hell happened?"

"Nothing. Just… a long night. —Morning."

"Riiiight," he said scathingly. He put his hands in his pockets. "So we're doing Merissa's court appearance run-through, right? And then tracing this truck driver?"

"That's the plan," Matt nodded.

"Okie dokie."

The phone beside Karen suddenly blared with a desperate need for attention. Foggy jumped and turned to look at it.

Karen picked it up. "Good morning, Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law." She listened. "Yes, we are. Yes, we do. —What?" She stood suddenly.

Foggy looked over at Matt just in time to see him tilt his head as if listening.

"What? When - _where?_ " Karen blurted. "Yes! Yes we will! I'll come down and give you all the insurance you need!"

"This sounds bad," Foggy breathed. Matt was already getting up, checking his pockets as he came to the doorway.

Karen put the phone down. "That was the hospital - Emma Leung - _Merissa_ was brought in."

"What? What happened?" Matt demanded. He put a hand to Foggy's shoulder to give himself a heading around him to the front door.

"She was shot," Karen said. She put her hand over her mouth.

"How bad?" Foggy asked.

Karen looked at him - just looked.

"Let's go," he breathed. He fairly grabbed Matt's arm and hustled them both out of the office.

Karen snatched up her coat. She ran across the room. Her hand scrabbled for Matt's cane and then she was out of the door and locking it behind her.

.


	6. Standing Eight Count

**SIX**

 **Standing Eight Count**

.

The clock above the reception to the hospital was just showing midday as Karen flew up to the counter. "Hi," she panted. "Can you help me, please?"

The nurse looked up. "Are you hurt?" he said quickly.

"No - not me." She swallowed to get some breath back. "I'm here for a women that was brought in - she was shot - she's on bail and we're her lawyers - they called us as next of kin."

"Right. Do you have her name?"

"Mer—. Emma Leung," Karen said. "She's only eighteen. Where is she?"

The man looked down at what she presumed to be a computer monitor under his side of the desk. "She's only given two names as next of kin," he said. "A… Matt Murdock and… Oh. Daredevil. Then again, everyone cites him these days."

They heard feet approaching from behind her and suddenly Foggy collided with the desk and leant on it with both hands. "Do they have her? Where is she?"

"Are you Matt Murdock?" the nurse asked.

"No - he is," Foggy panted. He turned and pulled the arm of another man up to the counter. "Tell him, Matt."

He pushed his loose glasses up his nose and then laid his hand on the counter. "That's me."

"And you're her lawyer, are you?" the nurse asked.

"We both are," Matt said.

"Do you have any ID?" the nurse asked him.

"I don't exactly have a driver's licence."

"You know what?" the nurse sighed. "If you're willing to put your firm down as her insurance, that's good enough for me." He sat and began to tap at what sounded like a keyboard. "Wait a second - let me get her details up here."

Karen sagged to the surface, turning to look at Foggy. "What the hell happened?" she asked. "She said she was on her way to the office."

"What exactly _did_ she say?" Foggy asked.

"She said… she said she had a lot to tell Matt. I said she had to go through her court appearance routine, learn what to say, etc. She said…" She bit her lip. "She said she had to make a stop first."

"Where, Karen?" Matt asked. "It's important."

"She didn't say," she allowed quietly. "I'm sorry. I should have made her come straight to the office - I should have brought her with me instead of letting her sleep in."

"It's not your fault," Foggy said firmly.

The nurse looked up. "She's out of surgery. She'll be resting, but they might let you look in the window," he offered.

"That's good enough for now. Where?" Foggy asked.

"Wait - she's out already? When was she brought in?" Karen asked.

"About…" The nurse looked down, reading something. "Just before ten."

Matt put an elbow to the counter suddenly, the attached hand going through his hair in a way that conveyed all too well how angry he was, without ever needing a word.

"Hey - she'll be ok," Foggy said quickly. "She's a fighter, right? That's what Henrickson said."

"I should have been at the office," Matt growled. "I should have been there when she called. She would have come straight to the office and she wouldn't have got shot."

Karen went round Foggy to put her hand on Matt's arm. "Hey - this isn't your fault. Let's go see her first - and find her doctor."

Foggy leant on the counter again. "Who is her doctor, please?"

"Strachlan," the nurse said. "She may still be around the ward."

"Thank you," Foggy said. He pulled at Karen's arm. "Come on, let's go."

She patted at Matt's arm. He took a good grip of his cane and followed the sound of her heels down the corridor.

After a few turns and a few doors, Karen's shoes stopped dead and she gasped. Matt put his hand to the door and felt for the handle.

"Woah there - I'm afraid I can't let you in," said a female voice.

He paused and turned to his right. "Are you her doctor?"

"Yes I am. Dr Strachlan," she said.

 _Older, wiser, more tired_ , he heard from her tone. "When can we go in?" he asked.

"Well who are you, first of all?"

"We're her lawyers - that's Foggy Nelson, I'm Matt Murdock."

He heard papers rustling, a pen being clicked. "Ok. Says here a… Karen Page has already given insurance allowances on your firm?"

"Yes," Karen said from behind him. "That's me. And I did. She's our client - our friend."

"Uh-huh," Strachlan said, sounding remarkably unconvinced. "Well she's given consent for Mr Murdock to see her. You two will have to wait, I'm afraid." More papers rustling. "She'll be awake in a few hours."

"How bad is she?" Matt asked.

"She had a gunshot wound, point blank near enough, to the manubrium of her sternum. Lucky for her it was - it took the brunt of the shot, only cracked in two. There was no shattering. She lost a lot of blood but she's type O - another thing in her favour. We stabilised her and retrieved the bullet - and plated her sternum back together. She seems to be doing well."

Matt turned and waved his hand out, finding Foggy's shoulder. "Can you find the police report? I want to know exactly what happened to her."

"Sure, buddy," he said quietly, mindful of the grip he could feel through his jacket. "Just stay frosty, ok? Icy calm, right? Icy calm."

"Right," he allowed, releasing his shoulder.

"Karen - you want to finish off the insurance and paperwork?" Foggy asked. "I'll go looking for the cop that wrote all this up. Call me when you're done - I'll need your bloodhound skills on this one."

"Ok - yeah. Yeah, I can do that," she said. She straightened up, nodding. "Right. Let's go."

Foggy patted Matt's elbow. "You stay here. We'll call when we have something."

"Go," Matt nodded. He heard their feet leaving and turned to face the quiet, controlled breathing of Doctor Strachlan.

"I can't let you in yet, Mr Murdock."

"Then can I wait here, outside?" he asked.

"If you promise me you won't go in while she's resting," she said.

"I promise I will not go in while she's resting," he intoned.

She sighed. "Fine. I've got other people to check on. Be a good boy - don't make me get you thrown out."

"No ma'am."

He heard a rush of air and the heat in her face changed. "You know what makes me suspicious of you lawyers?" she asked, a smile in her voice. "Sass like that."

"I wasn't—"

"You wait here, Mr Murdock. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Doctor."

She sighed and then her shoes took her around him and away. He turned to listen, and then widened his target to the entire corridor. New smells, odd sounds, strange heat patterns surrounded him. Nothing familiar jumped out to guide him as he felt for the wall again. He followed it along to bump his knee into a chair. His palm went down the backrest and he turned himself around and sank into it gratefully. He leant forward, positioned his cane in front of him, and rested his forehead against the cool metal handle.

He waited.

.

* * *

.

Karen lifted the sheaf of papers over her head. "Foggy! I got it!"

He looked up from his very frustrating conversation with a nurse on another desk. "Yes! Team Bloodhound, on the case!" he cried in relief.

She ran up to him, turning the papers round. "The police report. I had to wait for it to be entered into the records or something. Look at the address where she was—. Where it happened."

Foggy took the pad from her and read slowly. "That's the address of the guy who owns the truck - the one with the licence plate."

"Yeah. She gave me the licence plate print-out, right? She read it first and went to find him."

"But why? I mean, if he already attacked her once, why go find him alone?" he asked, confused.

"You've met her, right? I think she wanted revenge."

"But we're going to get that for her in court!"

"She seems more… hands on," Karen hedged. "At least we know now how it happened."

"And we also know the suspect who could have cleared one of our clients and been jailed for beating up the other one is now in the wind," he tutted. "He's not going to hang around now the police are looking for the owner of the place she was found shot at point blank range."

Karen heaved a sigh. "But it's a start, right? I mean… We know it was him. And when she wakes up—"

"That might not be for a while, Karen," he said carefully. "We can't wait for her. We'll have to inform the court she's not able to appear, get her taken off the witness list. _Then_ we'll have to rejig all of our plans for Claire's defence."

"Right," she nodded with considerable affirmation of will. She paused. "How do we do that?"

He let the papers drop to his side and smiled at her. "With style and bull-headed determination. And when that fails, we ask Matt."

"Do you think he'll be ok?" she asked.

Foggy put a hand to her elbow and guided her round, walking her toward the exit. "He'll be ok. He's just got this thing in him that wants to look after wounded kittens - especially the innocent ones."

"Wounded kittens? Since when?" she smiled.

"Well he gave _you_ a job, didn't he?"

"Are you saying I'm a kitten!"

"Yes, I'm saying you're a kitten," he grinned. "You're inquisitive and curious and won't let things go. But you also prefer company to your empty apartment and like soft things to sleep on."

She pushed a hand into his shoulder. "Well that was better than what I thought you were going to say."

"What did you think I was going to say?" he asked innocently. "Anyway." They walked out of the exit and into the afternoon sun. "We should let Claire know what's happened. She'll want to know why we're not drilling her in courtroom techniques."

"Yeah. Is she still at Matt's?"

Foggy paused and then looked at her. His face suddenly drained of colour. "Oh my god. This is all my fault."

"What? Why?" she asked, surprised.

"I was so stupid! I lied and got her to stay with him! So when this 'Emma' showed up and she needed somewhere to stay, she had to go with you!" He slapped both palms into his eyes. "Oh my god! It was me!"

"How was it you?" she demanded. "Foggy - what?"

"If she'd been staying at Matt's instead of Claire - if she'd been there—! She never would have gotten away from him, she never would have gone to see that bastard on his own!"

"Foggy calm down!" she cried. "She would have gotten away from _anyone_. She's a ninja at escaping things - trust me on this."

He let his hands drop. "This is all my fault."

"No, it's not." She pulled on his arm. "Shake it off, soldier. Let's go. We have to check this police report and then find a way to track down this driver who is now on the run. Right?"

"But—"

"No buts. Merissa needs us to find where this asshole is hiding and get him arrested. He'll be tried and absolutely friggin' _roasted_ in court. Right? _Right?_ "

Foggy paused. He looked at her. "Right!"

They walked to the kerb to flag down a taxi cab.

.

* * *

.

Hurried feet made Matt straighten up from his near-sleep slump. The shoes went past him but stopped in front of the door.

"Excuse me - can I go in now?" he asked.

The shoes stopped and then moved closer to him. A whiff of sanitiser and perfume made him sit up straighter still. "She's awake," said a woman's voice. "You'll have to wait here, sir. I need to assess her first, then if she's up to it I'll let you in."

"Please see to her," he said quickly.

The shoes moved and the door squeaked open. He waited completely impatiently as he heard it swing closed. His head swayed silently to the right as he chose an area to listen in on. Steadily the murmur of voices began to clarify themselves, turning a low buzzing noise into words. One heartbeat in the room was strong, loud, free of stress. The other was faster, panicked, unsteady. He got to his feet as the confident heartbeat with the soft shoes came back to the door. It creaked open and then paused.

"You can see her now, sir. She's asking for you."

"Thank you," he managed. He put a hand up and felt the nurse take it, wrapping it round her arm and holding it there to guide him into the room.

The shape of the heat in the hospital bed made him wince. It was a mass of curled up heat spots splodging together in tightly-knit balls of worry and fear. He swallowed as he paused for his free hand to feel for the side of the bed. He rested his cane against it and the nurse let go of his other arm.

"There's a chair just here," she said, moving his hand down to the wooden arm rest to his left.

"Thanks."

"I'll be back in ten minutes to chase you out. Poor girl needs rest. 'Only reason I let you in here is because she won't stop asking for you." Her shoes swish-swished against the tiles and the door closed softly.

"Merissa?" he breathed.

"Hey Four Eyes," she sighed.

The heat spot uncurled slightly and a length of cooler colour spread toward him across the bed. He made himself sit perfectly still until her hand slid over his. Finally able to show awareness of her position, he turned his hand under hers and curled his fingers around it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like the floor of a taxi cab."

"I have days like that."

She chuckled softly, a noise that made the room feel infinitely less strained. "I knew you'd come for me."

"They called Karen - you're our client," he smiled.

Her fingers squeezed his. "I told that son of a bitch - I said you'd find him and tear him a new one. You will, right?"

"He'll be sued for assault at the very least. I'm thinking… attempted murder. We'll make it stick," he nodded firmly.

"If he's in a fit state to stand trial," she grinned.

"What makes you say that?"

"For a lawyer you're not very smart. Don't give up your night job."

"Hey, being a lawyer _is_ my night job. There's a reason my chair at work is more comfortable than the couch in my apartment."

She giggled. "You didn't think this through, did you?" she asked. "I mean, if you wear a mask so people don't recognise you in your night job, then don't wear glasses that cover the _exact same part of your face_ during your day job."

He felt his mouth go dry. "What?"

"Oh come on, Mr Distinctive Lips. I clocked your voice the moment you started lecturing me in the alley about asking for help. Another clue? That cool red suit of yours has the same cologne smell on it as your shirt. It's real faint, but it's there."

He grinned suddenly, shaking his head. "Yeah, because a blind guy could really go round at night beating the holy hell out of people."

"If a man can't see light, does it matter if it's night outside?"

"If it's night outside, does it matter if people don't see what a man gets away with?"

"Do you mean 'bad guys' or men in general?"

"People. All of them."

She shifted slightly. "It matters that I saw you. And people see what you do. For this city. For all of us."

His head angled down, then tilted to the right in curiosity. "You're lying about the smell of the shirt. …But not about the people of this city."

"What?"

"You can't smell anything on my shirt at all."

She grinned, her face heating just a tad. "How can you tell if I'm lying?"

"It's something you pick up when people assume you can't see them cheating you out of your change," he said with a serene smile.

She chuckled. "Yeah well. It also explains why you didn't take the piece of paper off me last night. You couldn't have read it anyway - and who were you going to ask to do that for you? They'd ask where you got it. Awkward," she teased.

"You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?" he smiled.

She shrugged. "I know when I'm right."

"Except when you're not."

Her smile faded. "What?"

"I know you went there to beat the guy - the driver - to a pulp," he said firmly. "You should have let us handle it, Merissa."

"It was _me_ he attacked," she snapped. "Ok, so _maybe_ I started on him first. But beating on me like that? Let's just say it's my berserk button."

His thumb rubbed over her fingers steadily, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. "You tried to rob him? That's all it was?"

"What else would it be?"

It was silent for a long moment. Then:

"I get it," he said softly, "honestly - I do. But…" He sighed, resting more heavily on the mattress. "We'll take it from here, ok? You won't be able to leave here for a while. You've got a great excuse to sleep and eat for a while with no distractions. Promise me you won't try to sneak out of here before you're actually able."

"But I—"

"No, Merissa. _Please_ , just listen to me for once."

"Rude," she accused. "I _totally_ listened to you and gave Karen the licence plate of the truck."

He let his head cant to one side. "I never told you to do that."

"You're welcome," she said smugly. Her hand held his tighter. "Maybe I'll think about kicking back here for a while," she said airily. "I mean, it's clean and they _do_ feed you. And these pain meds are _awesome_."

"Stay here until they say you can leave. Then maybe we'll get you to Manitoba."

"And why would I want to go there?"

He smiled. "To see foggy Nelson River, of course." His head tipped toward his hold on her, and then he pushed himself up to stand. His hand slipped from hers.

"I know how you do it, you know," she said slyly.

"Do what?"

"Get away with being two people."

"Saying - just for sake of argument - that this absurd theory you have isn't you high on pain medication… how would I even _do_ that?" he smiled.

"When you're him, you're hot. Like _seriously_ hot - I'd totally do that. But when you're the lawyer? You're just cute. You're like my older brother. From another mother."

He laughed. "Ok, Freud. Stay here and rest. And I wouldn't share your crackpot theory with the help around here - they may think you're on the wrong meds."

"Well hey, I won't tell them who you are if you won't tell anyone who _I_ am."

"Me saying yes is not acceding that your theory is in any way correct; it's an agreement not to divulge your secret identity. —For all I know, _you're_ this vigilante."

"You're funny," she yawned. "I have to sleep now. Thank the rest of your firm for the save."

"They'll be so relieved to hear that you said that."

"Good." She uncurled to lie flat on her back. "Now get."

"You rest. Or else."

The narrow red line of heat that served as her arm came up and floated by the outline of her skull on fire. "Yes sir, Captain Four Eyes."

"See that you do, Private Irony."

She giggled. He picked up his cane and turned for the door.

"Hey - Murdock?" she called.

He put his hand to the door handle but paused. "Yes."

"When you go after him - and you will," she said quietly. "Make it hurt. I promised him you would."

He swallowed, taking his time. Then his head lifted as if to aim over his shoulder. He wet his lips in a bid for more time to settle his thoughts. "Get some rest. We'll be back to see you."

He opened the door and was out before she could speak. It closed gently and she rolled her head back to look at the ceiling.

 _Then_ she grinned.

.

* * *

.

"Ok, Claire's cool with what's happening," Foggy said, putting his cell phone on the desk. "Well she's not _cool_ with it, but she's up to speed. She actually wanted to bolt down the hospital to keep an eye on Merissa."

"You told her not to, right?" Karen gasped.

"Of course I did. We can't have two witnesses in the same room. I mean, I'm hoping this driver guy has split, so he's not thinking of tracking anyone down to finish the job."

"Hmm." She leant back in the chair opposite his desk, folding her arms.

"Ah - now, come on," he said, pointing at her. "You've got that face on. What are you thinking? —What have you _thought_ of?"

She half-smiled. "Well… if Merissa was in custody the whole time, and the driver is over six feet tall and built like Dwayne Johnson…"

"Yes?"

"Who climbed in our window and looked at files on Claire?"

Foggy's mouth hung open slightly. "Why would you think it was Merissa?" he asked.

"If some guy attacked me and I wanted revenge, I might sneak a look at the police report," she shrugged. "She's smart, Foggy. She got this licence trace from somewhere - that paper is used in police cars. I don't want to know how she got it."

"True." He picked up his cell phone and pressed at keys.

"What?" she asked.

He put a hand up for quiet. "Hey - Matt. Where are you, buddy?" He listened. "Right. Karen's had a brainwave. Yeah, I know, right? Anyway, she's just rightly pointed out that we still don't know who got in our window and took files on Claire." He looked across the table at her. She waited. "No, man. Merissa was in custody. This dude was too big. Do you think it was even related to Claire's case? Or just Claire?"

Karen got up and went out of the room, to her own desk. She came back with a handful of files. She sat down and began to rifle through them.

"She said that?" Foggy smiled. "Ngaw. She's ok, you know. Waaaay too young for you or me, but she's ok in my book." He chuckled. "I heard that. So get back here and we'll regroup and come up with a new plan. I've filled Claire in on what's gone down today. Well of course she wasn't happy about it, but she had to know why we're not coaching her in witness stand stuff." He paused to nod. "Ok. Will do. Come straight back here, alright? We've all had enough drama for one week." He pressed a key and put the phone back on the desk.

"Look at this," Karen said. She turned the manila folder round and scooted it across the wooden surface.

"What am I looking at?"

"Here." She tapped the typed words on the page.

"It gives a description of Claire, Emma Leung, and…" He paused. "That's odd."

"Don't you think it's strange that no-one bothered to mention the truck at all? Why was it not in the report? Two women are picked up for apparently fighting each other near an alley, and they both tell the same story - there was a man in a truck. Why did not _one_ officer think to check the truck that must have still been there?"

"Well Claire said she told them everything but the police thought _she'd_ beaten up Merissa. Even _she_ said that the police didn't believe her when she told them Claire didn't touch her."

Karen frowned. "And why is that? Why would police officers in a run-down part of the Kitchen ignore the gigantic truck parked, probably with its engine running to power cooking equipment, right next to Claire standing with a smashed wooden chair in her hands?"

Foggy rubbed two hands over his face. "You know, I still can't work out how they managed to arrest Claire and Merissa, but never saw a huge guy like the one they both described even _at_ the crime scene."

"So he got out of there before the police arrived - he must have left the truck there and gone back for it later."

"True," he mused. "It doesn't help us though, does it?"

"Maybe it does."

Foggy threw his hands out. "I don't follow. Tell me, Daphne, and do it quick before Scooby gets back and we have to tell him we got nothing."

She giggled. "He's not Fred?"

" _I'm_ Fred," he blustered.

"Absolutely. — _Not_ ," she laughed. "If he's Scooby then you're definitely Shaggy."

"Story of my life," he sighed, trying to sound hard done-by. "Well? Lay your amazing whatever-it-is on me."

"He couldn't have got out of there so quick, not with blue lights everywhere," she said. "What if he just hid? He waited until the show was over, and then just calmly drove it out of there."

Foggy nodded. "Yeah… He'd have to go back and get it. But where is it now?"

"Well we have a licence plate that is registered to the address of the shooting. Do you want to go look?"

"Get your coat," he said, whisking up out of his seat.

.

* * *

.

Matt strode into the office and barrelled straight through to his room before he paused. He listened for a long moment. "Where is everybody?" he breathed. He came back out to the main reception and was just frowning to himself in thought when his head snapped round to the left. He held his breath and concentrated on sound.

Abruptly his coat pocket began to speak. " _Karen. Karen. Karen_."

He pulled his phone free and cleared his throat, putting the phone to his ear. "Hey. Where is the rest of our legal team?" He felt for the edge of the desk, using it to orientate himself to head back to the door. "You're where? Why? Karen - you shouldn't be there." He huffed. "Just don't touch anything - please. I'll be right there."

He cut the call and put the cell phone back in his pocket. He shook his head, felt for his cane, and went for the door. He closed it securely behind him and then locked it. The shape of his head moved away from the marbled window.

Presently, the window behind Karen's desk creaked. A slim blade pushed in between the window and the sill, sweeping to the right to edge the catch up. The knife disappeared. The window inched up as quietly as possible. As it reached full draw, one hand went over the sill and hauled a figure inside. It flowed over the sill to put two black trainers to the floorboards in silence. The window stood open, waiting, as the figure turned to Karen's desk.

Matt, just shy of the office door, crept back toward the gap in the hinge. He turned his head and concentrated. Slowly the world melted away; the sound of the far traffic, the wind breezing at the open window, the people talking on the stairs far behind him. Instead the contents of the office expanded throughout his head; the careful tread on the boards, the light touch of the files and folders, the excited heartbeat, the elevated breathing, the tick of a wristwatch wound too tight. He waited, soaking in as much information as he could.

Finally he reached out and rattled the door handle. The person inside froze, their heart leapt. He stood directly in front of the window in the door, muttering to himself about the need to lock doors. As he made as much noise as possible jangling his office keys from his pocket, he lifted his head and heard feet on the windowsill, wood sliding in its frame. He unlocked the door and swung it open deliberately, stepping inside.

The window was already shut, the person gone. He spun back out of the room. Tearing down the hallway he skidded to a completely ungraceful stop at the door to the stairs. He pushed through and leapt up the steps two at a time.

He burst out onto the roof and turned right. He made it to the edge of the building and paused to listen. Then he backed up a good twenty feet before flinging his cane over his shoulder and charging headlong at the edge of the roof.

He soared across the divide and landed shoulder-first on the next roof. A tuck and roll and he was barrelling across it diagonally to reach the next rooftop. He propelled himself across.

He rolled.

He sprinted.

He chased.

.


	7. Gloves Are Off

**SEVEN**

Gloves Are Off

.

Foggy poked his head around the door in the metal shutters. "I think it's empty," he said.

Karen pushed at his shoulder and he stepped in first to look around. She followed. "Do you _maybe_ think it's the crime scene tape everywhere that puts people off?" she asked.

Foggy shrugged. "I kinda like it. Brings a bit of colour," he smiled. He wandered further into the garage, looking down and to his right. "There."

Karen walked up to the splatters of blood and the chalked circles on the floor and wall. "This is where he shot her?"

"Yeah," Foggy managed. He walked away with a purpose.

She crouched to look at the wall, then the side of the Snap-On cabinet. "I don't get it. How did she get behind here before he drew his gun?"

"She's got a smart mouth. Maybe she talked herself closer to him."

"I still don't understand how she knew him. I mean, she must have been after him since she saw his licence plate, the night she tried to rob him."

"Yeah - about that," he said, coming to a stop. He turned round to look at her. "Why pick him to rob? I mean, there were other trucks, smaller drivers - and Claire wasn't far away."

"Do you think she picked him on purpose?" she asked. She got up again. "Why?"

"I don't know. But I think she's far too ready to let everyone assume she was robbing him."

Karen folded her arms, walking past him to the open office door. "What if she recognised him? What if she wasn't robbing him at all?"

"How do you mean?" he asked.

She walked into the office and stood by a large cork board. "Look at this."

Foggy came in, skirted the metal desk covered in work orders and greasy mugs and tools, and stopped next to her. "What are we looking at?"

"Well these are just open orders, right?" She put a hand up and touched an invoice pinned to the board. "The ones on this side seem to be work completed and he's waiting for the customer to come back to pay and collect."

"And the others?" he asked, peering at them.

"These are for work not yet done." She unpinned one of the papers, pushing the mapping pin back into the cork. "Except this one. This job… was done months ago. It has no dollar value on it, no customer name and no indication that the job's still open."

"So why's it still here?" Foggy asked.

"Let's find out," she smiled. She read the number off the invoice and then went round to the swivel chair, the cushion covered in a sheet of clear plastic. "Do you think he left his computer on?"

"We couldn't be that lucky," Foggy snorted. He wandered to a filing cabinet by the wall. "Oh lookie - just like the things we need in our office."

Karen pressed the power button on the computer tower and smiled as it beeped, starting to boot up. "Could you look through those files? See if there's anything to tell us who this customer was?"

"I'm on it," he announced. He opened the top drawer and then went back to the desk, picking up the paper and taking it back to the drawer. He sat it all on the top of the cabinet and began to page through invoices arranged rather haphazardly within hanging folders.

Karen cracked her knuckles and put her hands to the computer keyboard, waiting for the Windows screen to announce she was in. At last it popped up bright blue and she smiled as she began to navigate around the files and folders in its My Documents stash.

.

* * *

.

Matt all but squeaked to a stop. He panted in air as he crouched and his hands went to the edge of the roof. Far below, someone with exactly the same racing heartbeat and a softly ticking wristwatch had paused. Metal on metal; a rubber brush on concrete; footsteps through an open doorway. The door was closed and the same metal on metal pronounced it locked.

He shuffled back from the edge and let himself fall to his arse in the gravel of the rooftop. He pulled off his glasses, wiped his face over, and then folded the frames and pushed them into his coat pocket. His chin jerked slightly to his right; he sniffed. Then it went back straight ahead and he listened. Finally he got up, brushed himself down, and steadily made his way to the exit door slap bang in the middle of the roof.

.

* * *

.

"Here we are," Foggy grinned. He pulled the invoice out, his eyes dancing over the details. "It says one truck, engine cleaned and timed, new tyres fitted and tracked and balanced, and… something about power to the fryer." He closed the drawer. "The customer was one Warren Cobley. It gives an address and everything. Oh - and would you look at the licence plate number."

"KDC 2190?" Karen asked.

"How did you guess?" He took the paper over to her position behind the computer screen.

She took it and read it over. "So… this Warren Cobley asked for his truck to be overhauled and it was. Then the invoice was paid off - no mention of a receipt or how he paid - but he never comes back to collect it anyway." She looked back at the computer and scrolled down. "It matches the amounts here in his accounting spreadsheet. But it doesn't give any details. This piece of paper is the only proof that this Warren Cobley had his truck here at all."

"Then we take it," Foggy said. "It's evidence."

"Of what? A truck getting new tyres?" she asked.

He plucked it from her grasp and folded it neatly, pushing it into his inside jacket pocket. "We should leave. We can go check up on this Cobley dude and find out why he's so special."

"Let me turn the computer off first."

They heard a bump and a shuffle and looked up in unison.

Foggy put his hand out in a very firm 'stay' command, before tiptoeing to the door and sliding a single eye round the edge. He sagged. "Matt!" he called in disgust. He came out of the office and went to the man trying to navigate around random car parts littering the floor and the odd tool lying silently in his path.

"Foggy. What did I say about not touching anything?" Matt asked wearily.

Foggy stepped over and around items, catching hold of Matt's elbow. "Ok, stop right here. This place is a minefield."

Karen appeared out of the office, her bag over her shoulder. "Matt - where's your cane _this_ time?"

He half-smiled in abject apology. "Uh…"

"You've _got_ to stop leaving them on the subway," she sighed. "Either that or we order them in bulk on office expenses."

Matt smiled, his head down, but Foggy put his hands to his shoulders and turned him around. "Come on, buddy, away from the inanimate objects. Me and Karen have found something you'll want to hear about."

"I have a question for you two," he said as they walked.

"I didn't take anything from this crime scene."

"What?"

"Nothing. What's your question?" Foggy asked innocently.

Matt rolled his eyes, then shook his head. "I need you to look at something in the office for me."

"Then let's get back there."

.

* * *

.

"This pile right here?" Karen asked rifling through papers on her desk. "It's just stuff I was going to file before I go home this evening. — _If_ I go home this evening."

Foggy folded his arms. "So, Matt… someone was in here, and you came in and disturbed them?"

"Yes," Matt said. He put a hand out that eventually found the edge of Karen's desk. "They were definitely over here, looking through stuff."

"You think they're connected to Claire? Or Merissa?" Karen asked.

"No idea," he shrugged. "I was hoping there was something on the desk here that would make that obvious for all of us."

"They were paging through electricity bills," she said. "I keep all the important stuff somewhere else."

"What do you mean, important stuff?" Foggy asked.

"Court dates, the accounts… anything the average guy off the street shouldn't be seeing."

"Good thinking," Matt nodded. He turned and his hand went out to the doorjamb to his office. "We have to assume they have something invested in this whole thing - maybe they're working for the driver of the truck."

"Oh, yes - we have an ID on him," Foggy said proudly.

"You what?" Matt asked. He turned in the doorway. "Who is it?"

"Well the driver himself… we don't know," Karen said. "But we do know he wasn't driving his own truck. It belongs to a Warren Cobley, but after he put it in for repairs he paid but never came back to pick it up. We think it might be—"

"It's a pay-off," Matt nodded. "I think you're right. So who is Warren Cobley and why would he give a truck to this person who owns the garage?"

"We were just about to discover that," Foggy said. "You get settled in your office - Karen and I will get to the bottom of Warren Cobley." He paused. "That came out wrong."

Karen smiled. "We will find out who he is. Maybe it's Matt's turn to make coffee."

"I'll be sure not to put _salt_ in it," Matt said with a shit-eating grin.

Foggy cleared his throat. "I could make some."

"You?" Karen asked, surprised.

"Well… you've got your hands full and Matt wouldn't know where we keep all the stuff. I'll do it," he said airily. He spun on the spot and headed off toward the tiny counter space that barely passed for a kitchenette.

Karen just watched him go, confused. Matt cleared his throat. "He owes me one," he allowed. Then he turned and went into his office.

She shrugged. "Ok. I'll get on this Warren Cobley. —That came out wrong, too."

.

* * *

.

"Oh my god!" Karen cried. She shot to her feet.

There was a crash and a smack and then Foggy's head appeared round the doorjamb to his office. "What is it?"

"Warren Cobley - he's not really Warren Cobley!" she gasped.

Foggy came out of his office as Matt appeared in his own doorway. "Then who is he?" Matt asked.

Karen stared down at her laptop screen, then her eyes went to Matt. "He's Louis Wendorf. He was arrested for all kinds of shit that he pulled when he was working indirectly for Wilson Fisk."

"Fisk? Then how is he walking the streets and driving trucks?" Foggy demanded.

Matt put a hand up for quiet but Karen glared at Foggy. "He made a deal," she tutted. "He basically flipped on Fisk for _everything_ he knew. In exchange he got a new, clean record and matching ID."

"So who is Louis Wendorf?" Matt asked quietly. "And where is he now?"

She cleared her throat. "I don't know that yet. I'll check him out."

Matt nodded. "In the meantime, Foggy - are you up for some reconnaissance?"

"Ooh yeah - a little recon in enemy territory!" Foggy gushed. "Wait - where are we going?"

"Somewhere down 21st Street. There's a butcher's and a flower shop - we want the apartments in between."

Foggy frowned. "Okie dokie. Why?"

"Let's just get there first," Matt said.

.

* * *

.

The tiny cell phone on the table began to ring. He leant forward in his chair and snatched it up. "Where is she?" He listened for a moment. "No, you stay out of it. You can't show your face round there, not after bodging the job _twice_." His face turned angry. "I paid you and you failed, you friggin' waste of space! Never contact me again. I'll finish this."

His thumb squeezed into the button and he slammed the phone back to the table top. He looked out of the window onto the street, contemplating, considering. His fingers went to his wristwatch and grasped the small knob in the side, twisting and twisting. He looked down suddenly, realising what he was doing. His fingers let go and then he stood slowly. He picked up his jacket from the only other chair in the room. Flinging it on and pulling it straight, he pulled the handgun from the pocket and checked it was loaded. The safety on, the magazine and chamber full, it was pushed back into the jacket.

He turned and went out of the door, making for the stairs out of the dilapidated apartment block. Meeting the pavement served to get him to the kerb, where he stretched a hand out to hopefully flag the first cab that whizzed by.

.

* * *

.

Foggy climbed the steps out of the subway and onto the street, pausing at the top. "Well this is 21st Street. What are we looking for?"

Matt appeared next to him. "A butcher's shop and a florist."

"This street goes on forever. Any idea which direction we go in?"

Matt's head tilted slightly. "Wait."

Foggy stood and watched as he appeared to sniff. Then he turned his head before it gave tiny adjustment movements, up and down, left and right, subtle in their centring on something, homing in on whatever it was Matt was chasing down.

At last his head went to his right. "This way. I think. Can you see anything that looks like a butcher's?"

Foggy grasped the sleeve over his upper arm and pulled, and the two of them began to walk down the busy street. "Don't tell me The Force has given out on you and you actually need me for something?"

"Of course I need you, Foggy, don't be ridiculous."

He let go of his arm. "Right. Yeah. I can see that. I mean, here you are _literally_ sniffing out shops. Why are we doing this?"

"The person who got in the window? The one I disturbed? I did it on purpose. I wanted them to run home so I could follow them."

"You're kidding," Foggy said flatly. "You bumbled in there like a _normal_ blind dude and spooked them, just so you could chase them across like half the city. Didn't they see you? A guy smacking a white cane around is a little hard to miss, buddy."

"I may have taken an alternate route."

"Do I get to guess what that was?"

"Roof tops, mostly."

"I swear," Foggy sighed, "I'm just going to stop asking." He came to an abrupt halt before grabbing Matt's arm and stopping him too. "There's the butcher's, right across the street."

Matt turned and swung his head dead ahead, toward the shop window. His nose twitched slightly. "Got it. The florist is… two to the right?"

"Yep," Foggy nodded.

"What's in between them?"

"It looks like an entrance to an apartment block."

"Can you describe it?" Matt asked.

"Uh… It's a door, maybe wood, like… heavy."

"How does it lock?"

"Could be… like one of those main door things where everyone has the same key," Foggy said.

"Is there a brush along the bottom of the door? To keep out bugs or the cold or whatever they're for?"

"Yeah," Foggy said, surprised. "How did you know that?"

"I heard it close when whoever it was got inside." He put a foot out. "Let's go knock."

"Wait," Foggy said quickly. He pulled Matt back a step, away from the kerb. "Someone's coming out. It's a guy… like fifty, maybe? Short, weedy. He's like Steve Rogers before he got hit with the magic He-Man potion."

Matt tilted his head; Foggy waited. The man across the road put a hand up, waving at the traffic. A taxi cab slowed and then stopped for him.

"He's getting a cab," Foggy said. "Is it him? Who is he?"

Matt's head swung one way, then the other. "It's him. He has the watch. And he asked the driver to go to… Metro General."

"That's where Claire works," Foggy realised.

"And it's where Merissa is." He pushed at Foggy's arm. "Get us a cab, Foggy. Get it now."

"We do this right," he snapped, pulling his phone from his pocket. He stepped out directly into traffic and waved his free arm as his other hand dialled. "Hello, yes. This is urgent - we have a witness in Metro General who needs _immediate_ police protection. —Like ten minutes ago. Foggy Nelson - of Nelson and Murdock. Her name's Emma Leung, she's in room 156. We have reason to believe someone's on their way to hurt her." He paused as a cab squealed to a stop by his foot. "Yes! Emma Leung - she's our witness. Great! Go!"

Matt's hand was already flailing for the door handle. He found it and pulled the door open to slide in. Foggy shoved him up and dived in to slam the door behind him.

"Metro General," Matt barked. "If you can get there in less than ten minutes we'll pay double your fare."

The driver turned in her seat and looked at him. "How do I know you got that kind of cash, honey?"

"We're lawyers - just go, please," Foggy urged.

"Wait - you're the blind one and the cute one, right?" she asked. "I seen you boys in the papers."

"Can we go?" Matt asked.

"Yes sir," she grinned. She checked her mirrors, indicated, and zipped straight out to the blare of horns and language. She turned to shout out of the window. "Learn to drive, asshole!"

"She called me cute," Foggy grinned at Matt.

"Seriously? Now's the time?" Matt asked, but his mouth was fighting a smile.

"Just burns to know she's noticing _I'm_ cute when I'm sat next to a guy who apparently radiates charm like a small star whenever a female is in the room."

"Stars don't radiate—"

"And you'd know what stars do, would you?" Foggy scoffed.

"When we get to the hospital you go straight for Merissa's room," Matt grumped.

"On it," Foggy nodded.

The cab continued to weave in and out of the lanes, sliding expertly between stopped cars that would otherwise have barred their route. "You two might wanna hold on," the driver grinned, "cos we'll be there in five."

Foggy took a firm hold of the strap hanging over the window. Matt was just scrabbling for anything in reach when the taxi flew around a queue blocking a corner so fast he was plastered into the window cheek-first.

"Woo-hoo! I _love_ this city!" the driver cried. She tossed dreadlocks over her shoulder and put her foot down.

.

* * *

.

He went up the steps to the hospital, nodding in a friendly manner to the nurses and people on duty. They smiled back and he went up to the counter. "Hey," he said cheerfully.

The woman behind the desk looked up. "Afternoon. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to find someone," he said. "They came in to visit a friend of theirs and now I've lost them."

"Who were they here to see?" she asked, concerned.

"Well I don't really know - they didn't give me her name. Young girl. Half Chinese looking, but still, a lovely girl despite it all. Got shot, I think he said. Random robbery."

The woman eyed him with a frown. "Right." She frowned and thought for a moment. "What's _his_ name?"

"Matt Murdock," he said brightly. "A lawyer - well, tries to be, without eyes an' all."

"We know him and his partner," she said somewhat stiffly. "We appreciate their efforts round here. You new in town?"

"I've been away for a long time," he admitted. "Is Matt here now? And his friend? Which room is she in?"

"How about I call for Mr Murdock and he can come to you?" she asked slowly. Her hand went out for the switch for the Tannoy system.

He stretched a hand over the counter and grabbed her wrist. "I'll just call his cell," he said. "You don't need to trouble yourself."

She stepped back. "Let go of me."

"Sorry, darling," he said instantly. He put both hands up in surrender. "I'm not used to hospitals."

She glared at him. "Right. Perhaps you'd better wait here until Mr Murdock comes to you."

"Of course," he nodded with a smile. "I'll do that. Thanks for your help." He turned away from the desk and reached into his pocket.

The nurse looked left and right. Her hand went under the counter and pressed at a small red button on the underside of the wood. She stood back, looking at the keyboard to the computer, before glancing up.

The man was gone.

She snatched up the phone.

.

* * *

.

The cab screeched to a halt outside the hospital doors. "There - four minutes and fifty-eight seconds," the driver grinned. "What did I tell you?"

Foggy yanked bills from his wallet and slapped them into the tray under the plastic safety partition. "Double like we promised. Thanks."

He wrenched at the door and piled out. Matt shuffled across the rear seat to get to the open door. He paused. "What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

"Me? Latifah," she said, turning to take the money.

"Call our offices - Nelson and Murdock. Speak to a woman called Karen. Tell her Matt wants you to be our unofficial driver."

"A driver for a law firm? With like booked rides and everything?"

"Think about it." He leapt out of the cab and the door closed smartly behind him.

" _Damn_ ," she grinned. She checked the doors were clear before driving off.

Foggy grabbed Matt's elbow and they raced to the front doors of the hospital. As Foggy pounded in and aimed for the desk, Matt skidded to a stop on the slippery floor. He turned around in a full circle, surveying, his cane tight between his hands.

Foggy grabbed the desk to look at the nurse. "Hey - Foggy Nelson of Nelson and Murdock," he gabbled. "Emma Leung - does she have police around her yet?"

The nurse gasped. "There was a man here looking for her - I didn't tell him where she was. I called Security - and the police are on their way."

"I could _kiss_ you!" he blurted. "Me and Matt Murdock - we're going to check on her, ok?"

"He just left," she said, confused.

"Who?"

"The blind guy you came in with - that's Murdock, right? Not too many blind lawyers around. He just went out the front doors."

Foggy spun around. The entrance had a distinct lack of people. He swore under his breath and turned back to the woman. "Then _I'll_ go check on her. Thank you, heroic hospital worker!" He turned and raced off down the corridor.

.

* * *

.

He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it, slipping into the room silently. He closed it behind him and looked at the person propped up on pillows, snoozing comfortably despite the tubes and machines beeping and monitoring her.

His shoes took him up to the windows beyond her bed. He closed the blinds slowly, then turned and stole up to her bedside without noise. He bent over to check her face. "Shame. I mean, ten years ago you were nothing, just another millstone, just like _her_ ," he breathed. "But look at you now; you are one _fine_ looking girl, Merissa. Too bad you look like your mom. But hey, even she had her moments. Why did you run, girl? Why did you run?" He reached out a hand and carefully, very gently, stroked the backs of his fingers down her exposed cheek. "Mmm-mmm, yes sir. A _very_ fine girl." His hand slipped down her chin. "Maybe I'll just… take you for a spin before I have to finish this. I mean, it's my right."

His hand landed around her throat. His other hand went over her mouth. Merissa stirred. He began to squeeze. Her eyes shot open. Her hands came up to struggle.

There was an almighty crash of glass behind him. He had no time to react; something heavy and hard wrapped around his own throat. It heaved. He was yanked backwards clean off his feet. He smacked back into whatever had him by the neck. As he sank to his knees he realised there was an arm around his throat and another hand at the back of his skull trapping him in a headlock. He struggled and spat curses but the arm tightened.

"There's two ways this can go," growled a furious voice in his ear. "I'm going to squeeze or I'm going to pull. If I squeeze you'll just end up unconscious for the police to find. If I pull, _so help me God_ I'll snap your neck in two for what you were planning to do." It paused. "Which one do you want?"

.

* * *

 _Thanks for sticking with it, folks! Couldn't resist a little Stardust dig there._ :)


	8. On The Ropes

**EIGHT**

 **On The Ropes**

.

Merissa bent over in the hospital bed, coughing in air as she fought to sit up. "Wait!" she cried hoarsely. "That's Louis Wendorf. We need him."

The man, currently suffering from an arm clamped around his neck, struggled to breathe. The arm tightened. He felt himself turning blue.

"Why is he trying to kill you?" the voice asked over his head.

She coughed. Her eyes bored into Louis' head. "He's my dad," she rasped.

The arm squeezed so tight Louis gasped and almost retched. Black spots danced in his vision - larger and larger, more and more - until ultimately they clouded everything. The room slipped away from his eyes as he relaxed into the hard grip, completely unconscious.

The arm let go and he dropped to the floor. His head smacked into the tiles and his former captor simply stepped over him.

Matt straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. "You ok?"

"I'm fine," she said with a harsh glare. "But you need to leave before someone comes in and we have to explain how he came to be on the floor - and who smashed the window."

His head snapped up in the direction of the door. He turned and hurried back to the empty window frame. His hands went to the sill and he simply leapt over the edge.

"No!" she cried, horrified.

The door heaved open. Foggy's shoes squeaked to a stop. "Merissa!" he cried. He did a double-take at the howling gale coming in through where there used to be a pane of glass. "What the—"

"Foggy!" she coughed. "Get Security - get him out before he wakes up!"

"Who?" he demanded, confused.

"On the floor - Louis Wendorf."

"Wendorf!" He sped around the end of her bed and then stopped on a dime. "What the hell happened to the window?"

"Wendorf tried to kill me - Daredevil stopped him."

"Did you say Daredevil?" he demanded.

Her mouth worked. She turned in the bed in time for two uniformed officers to careen in through the open door. "Miss! Are you ok!" the female officer asked.

"There's a man on the floor! Get him out of here!" she cried.

Between Foggy and the two officers, Louis Wendorf was carried out of the room. He was dumped on a nearby plastic chair as the two uniforms watched him like a hawk, talking into radios and starting reports.

Foggy stared at the man, then ran his hands through his hair and took stock of the moving corridor, awash with noise and the prickly, sickly feeling of a near-miss. More police officers arrived and he floated back out of the way, to watch them snap handcuffs on the still insensate man now slumped mostly upright in the chair. He turned and walked back toward the reception area. He took his phone from his pocket and opened it up, pressing at buttons. It rang for a moment before he realised he could hear a tinny voice calling _Foggy - Foggy_ over and over.

He turned to his right to see Matt leaning on the main counter, talking to a nurse. He put his hand in his trouser pocket and produced his phone. He made his excuses with the nurse and answered it.

"What the hell, Matt?" Foggy hissed into the phone.

"Is she ok?" Matt asked immediately. Foggy noticed he turned his back to Foggy's position. Part of him wondered if it were deliberate.

"She's fine. What the hell did you do?" he demanded.

"I was right here with the nurse. What happened?"

Foggy slammed the phone shut and stalked up behind him. He landed a heavy hand on Matt's shoulder, causing him and the nurse to jump in surprise. Matt put his phone on the counter and turned.

The nurse raised her eyebrows as Foggy squeezed Matt's shoulder with real force. "What have you been up to?" he demanded.

"Asking Cathy for news on Emma," Matt said pleasantly. "She says she should be ok to leave in another day or so. Other than that—"

"Other than that I think we should get out of here," Foggy said through clenched teeth.

"Can I see Emma first?" he asked innocently.

Foggy felt something in him snap. He grabbed Matt's shoulders and wrenched him into a bear hug. Matt's hands flailed for a reason, for a meaning, for a way to peel him off.

But Foggy held him still. " _You jumped in and out of the goddamn window to save her, didn't you?_ " Foggy hissed angrily in his ear. " _What if someone had seen you, smart-ass? What if you'd got hurt?_ "

"Ok, ok," Matt said soothingly, patting Foggy's back. He turned his head toward the nurse. "He gets attached to clients," he said apologetically. "She's going to be ok, buddy. Come on, it's all going to be ok."

"Ngaw," the nurse cooed with a smile. "Nice to see people who actually care."

Foggy pushed himself back from Matt, his face like thunder. He noticed a tiny sliver of glass stuck in the lapel of his suit jacket. He flicked a hand up casually and whisked it away as he turned back to face the counter. He straightened his coat and his hair, clearing his throat professionally. "We should liaise with the police."

Matt put his hands to the counter to trace down it and retrieve his phone. "We should."

Foggy gripped his upper arm with sudden vice-like strength. "With me, _Mr_ Murdock."

"Looks like we're leaving. Thanks for your help, Cathy," Matt managed as he was dragged backwards from the counter.

She waved. "Good luck with your friend."

He smiled but Foggy yanked and he was pulled the right way round. Foggy marched him down the corridor toward the gaggle of police uniforms and radios outside Merissa's room.

"I swear," Foggy warned under his breath, "you pull something like this again and I'm just _telling_ everyone who you are when you're not Matt."

"Good luck with that," he shot back.

Foggy pushed him toward the police officer guarding Merissa's door.

.

* * *

.

Two very tired and very thirsty men arrived back at the door of Nelson and Murdock just as the sun was eking its way across the sky, poking people in the eyes with its stealthy attack from between buildings.

Karen unlocked the door to let them in. "It's all over the news," she said quietly.

"What is?" Foggy asked, traipsing in and all but collapsing in Karen's chair.

Karen waited for Matt to walk in, noticing the weariness in his movements as he crossed to her desk. He ran his hands over the corner, found it empty, and turned to perch on it. "What exactly did the news say?"

She closed the door and folded her arms. "They say a suspect in an assault case was attacked in her hospital room. Luckily, Security was alerted and they got there when the police did. They're praising the hospital staff for their quick reactions."

"Good," Foggy nodded.

"And…" She paused.

"And what, Karen?" Matt asked, his voice soft.

"Emma Leung has issued a statement saying it wasn't the hospital staff that saved her, it was that Daredevil guy. She described his red suit and everything - even those ridiculous horns." She wiped a hand over her face. "As if we didn't have enough to worry about."

"What do you mean?" Foggy asked, worry flitting across his face.

"Well if _he's_ taking an interest then this must be pretty bad, right?" She began to pace. "I've been thinking this through. I mean, the guy on the news, the one they filmed being taken back to the station in handcuffs? They had his face blocked but he was small - he could have gotten in the window here. He must have been looking for files. It was never about Claire - he was after Merissa - or Emma, or whoever she really is."

"Why do you say that?" Matt asked.

"That name she gave? Emma Leung? We know that's not her real name," she said. "But neither is Merissa Lau."

"Is it Kato? Because she kicks ass when she wants," Foggy said flippantly. Matt's head turned and it tilted at Foggy in blatant judgement. Foggy sniffed. "Don't look at me like that," he accused.

"Technically I'm not _looking_ at—"

"Stop," Foggy snapped. "Just… stop. I'm too tired for all this shit. I've just spent four hours waiting around watching, drinking really _really_ sucky coffee and answering questions for and on behalf of someone whose name we don't even know." He put his forearms out to Karen's desk and just let his head drop. There was a soft thud as his head collided with the wood. Matt winced and turned his head away.

Karen threw her hands out. "Her name's Merissa Wendorf. That guy they arrested tonight? The one you texted me about, Foggy? That's her _father_. He got a new name for testifying against Fisk. And this is what he does with it!"

"Merissa said he tried to kill her," Foggy muttered from the table top.

"Then it's a good job that Daredevil was there!" she snapped. "I wish he'd thrown him out of that goddamned window!"

Matt put his hand out. "Karen, calm down—"

"No I won't calm down!" she warned, pointing at him. "That bastard beat her as a child _and_ her mother - then when he's caught for murdering Jenny Lau he just wriggles out of it like everybody else because apparently that's not a serious enough crime to be punished for! He _killed_ his wife and he tried to kill his daughter! Why is this city _doing_ this to people?"

"It's not the city," Matt said quietly. "It's a few people."

"Well I'm getting very close to being done with those few people," she snapped.

"I'm pretty sure Daredevil is with you on that one," Foggy said from the desk. "But hey, what do I know? Every time I turn around he's been and gone."

Karen looked at him. "So he _was_ at the hospital?"

"That's what Merissa's saying," Matt shrugged.

Karen folded her arms. She walked over to Foggy slowly, then put her hand down and pushed at his shoulder. "How is she?"

"She was ok when we left. She has a police guard now - not that she'll need it. That bastard is in custody," he said. "I really need my bed."

"You both need sleep," she said. "Go on, you two. I'll finish up all this stuff I dug up - we can go through it tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Matt nodded. He pushed himself off the desk and toward the front door. "Foggy - you want to share a cab?"

"Just go, man. It's been a long day. I might get out of this chair and go home, or I might just sleep here."

Matt walked back to the desk to trail his hand around the edge, taking him up to Foggy's right side. His palm went out and found his shoulder. He patted. "Come on, buddy. If you don't get up now you never will. And you do not want to sleep in that chair."

"Leave me - go on without me," he groaned. "Tell my mom I love her."

Matt smiled and shook at his shoulder. "Don't make me push you off that chair."

"I wouldn't even feel it," he moaned.

Karen grinned and put her hands to his arm, pulling. "Come on. Cab time. Oh, hey - a woman called while you guys were with the police. Latifah, she said her name was. She said you two were in _her_ cab this afternoon."

"Oh, yeah," Matt realised. "Did you get her number? We could do with a car on call."

"Of course," she smiled. "Want me to call her now? Get you two home?"

"Please," Matt nodded.

She pulled at Foggy until he was standing, and Matt had hold of his shoulder. Then she reached for the phone.

.

* * *

.

Claire heard a key in the lock. She stared at the front door until it swung open and Matt walked in. "Well hey, stranger," she said. "Did you forget where you live?"

He put his cane up against the wall and closed the door. The way he backed up into it and leant on the wood with all of his soul made her frown.

"You ok?" she asked with caution. "What happened?"

"Oh, not much," he sighed. "A friend of the truck driver who tried to kill you in the street? He's Merissa's dad. Attacked her in her hospital bed."

"What?" she demanded, shooting to her feet. "I didn't see any of that - when was this?"

"After two."

"Oh. I got off at midday. —Long story." She wiped her hands over her face. "Is she ok?"

"She is. I stopped him. Left him for the police to find."

She wandered across the apartment, halting just in front of him. Her hands went up slowly and she removed his glasses, folding them and letting her hands drop. "And are _you_ ok?" she asked softly.

"No."

"Why?" Her hand went to his jacket, knocking the open edge wider to allow her hand to go to his shirt.

"Ah, it's - it's nothing," he said dismissively. He edged around her, heading for the kitchen counter.

She grabbed his arm. "Don't lie to me, Matt. It's worse than being avoided."

He stopped and put his hands to the counter. "Well for starters there's the fact that I took a morning off and it just happened to be the one time I _needed_ to be in the office," he mumbled. "If I'd been there instead of with you, Merissa wouldn't have been shot in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

"She called in for me. I wasn't there. She went somewhere else before she went to the office, and because she went somewhere else first she never _reached_ the office."

She folded her arms, looking at her feet. Then her eyes caught the folded glasses still in her hand. "I get it." She walked up next to him and put his glasses on the counter. "Maybe I should go."

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I don't want to…"

"What?"

He huffed. "I kinda… I kinda pissed off Foggy. Again."

"What did you do, put salt in his coffee?" she smiled.

He couldn't help a small hitch at the corner of his mouth, before he breathed out and turned to face her. "No, it's just… I hate that noise he makes, like something he loved just got stamped on - ruined." He paused, apparently lost for words. "He was worried I'd get found out, at the hospital. But I couldn't just leave Merissa with that man in there. He was going to _kill_ her - or worse. What else was I supposed to do? —But it's always… It's always that feeling that Foggy's left out, or knowing he's going to… I don't know, be really hurt - _disappointed_ \- that I do this."

She wrapped her arms round him, squeezing at his back. He let his head fall to her shoulder and his arm went round her in silent gratitude. She stroked at the hair at the back of his head, just once. He let out a long, arduous breath.

"Well you got the guy in the hospital, right? Tell me you hurt him," she said in his ear.

"No," he said, muffled by her top. "Wish I had, though."

"Then I hope the son of a bitch escapes the police station tonight," she teased.

"I thought about going back there when they were changing shifts and unlocking his cell."

"Matt!"

"I'm kidding," he said, but she heard the smile in his voice.

"What will you do now?"

He raised his head, stepping back to put his hands behind him to the edge of the counter. She folded her arms to watch his face turn distinctly darker.

"Getting him arrested doesn't help you. The police still think that you and Merissa attacked each other in the street. We need this other driver, the friend of her father. If we have _him_ , we have your assault charges dropped and Merissa free of anyone else who could tell her father where she is."

"You think that's what this is about?" she asked.

"I think Merissa recognised the driver because she'd seen him with her father. She asked him where he was, maybe, or he attacked her because he recognised _her_."

"But why?" Claire asked. "Why would she pull a knife on him? I mean, I _saw_ her do it."

"She pulled the knife first?"

"Yes!" She wiped her forehead. "I saw her pull it out and I thought, shit, I'm going to have to call the police or get very far away from here. Before I could do anything he just went nuts, like someone flipped a switch and he just Hulk'd out there in front of her."

"So… she threatened him first," Matt said, as if to himself. "And then he got angry, overpowered her… And you were in the wrong place at the wrong time." He lifted his chin. "That's beginning to sound like the story of your life."

She advanced on him and leant against him until he was pinned to the counter. "It certainly is." She kissed him, running a hand into his hair. It took him a minute to pull himself together and lift his head from hers. "Leave it for today," she said. "Stop going over and over it. You'll make it worse. Start fresh in the morning."

He kissed her, once, twice, softly, as if worried she might at any moment disappear. "Foggy _said_ you'd be good for me."

"Foggy's full of shit," she said. "— _Some_ times."

He grinned and she kissed him. She didn't let him go and he certainly didn't fight her.

.

.

The phone rang, piercing the stillness of the room. Foggy picked up his pillow and shoved it over his head, groaning and cursing.

The phone, needless to say, ignored the insults and just kept on ringing.

"Son of a bitch," Foggy hurled at it through his pillow. "Shut up shut up shut up! If that's you Matt, I'm going to—!" He gasped in air and threw the pillow to the floor. "Matt!" He scrabbled across the bed and snatched up his cell phone. "Don't be dying don't be dying don't be dying," he gabbled, turning it the right way round to press the answer button. "Hello? Matt?" He stopped dead. "Oh. Mahoney. Hi. Yeah. Oh yeah - everything's fine - why wouldn't it be? How're you?"

He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed an eye as he listened.

"Seriously? You tell me this now? It's like dawn or something. —Ok, three in the morning. Whatever. No this does not make us even for the cigars." He pressed the red button and cut the call, then let the phone drop to his knee.

He lifted it and looked up his contact list, finding Matt's number. He pressed 'go' and waited, the phone to his ear.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

"Ugh! Friggin' typical!" he raged. He threw the phone to the bed and went about finding some trousers. "I get the name of the driver and you're out on the tiles, kicking the shit out of some lowlife," he grumped, pulling on some jeans and finding a t-shirt from the pile of Shroedinger's laundry in the corner of the room. He yanked it on and found his Converse, tying them as best he could before collecting up essential items and dashing from the apartment.

.

* * *

.

The fist hammered down for the third time. "Where is he!" raged the owner.

"I'll - kill - you," spluttered the man mostly in the gutter. He put a hand up to reach for the figure in dark red. Desperate to stop him thumping at his skull, his hand failed in the vain hope that he could deflect the next blow.

But his attacker simply lifted a foot and stamped it down on the man's wrist. "Tell me where I find him before I do some damage you won't walk away from."

"Screw you, man! You ain't all that! Just cos a few of the boys got scared of people jumping out of alley ways don't mean you're anything special!" he cried angrily.

The man in red grabbed him by the hair. He drove his captive's head into the asphalt under him, grinding his face harder and harder into the wet surface. "You like your nose, do you?"

"Screw you!"

"Because it's only in one piece for the next minute. After that I shatter every nanometer of bone in there. It'll never be reconstructed. Would you like that, Carl?"

"Go ahead! I ain't afraid of you!"

He wrenched his head back. He paused. Then he flung it into the pavement. There was an awful _crack_. Carl screamed. The figure in red lifted his head and again pounded it down. More screaming. "I can stop at any time, Carl!" he growled.

"4th and Vine!" he spluttered. "There's a - a place he stays!"

"What's it called?"

"Garden Apartments! Lemme go - _please!_ "

He lifted Carl's head higher. He paused. And then he smacked his gloved fist down into him so hard it drove him over onto his back. The figure stood back, assessing. Then he turned and disappeared.

Carl was pretty sure he saw the man in dark red leap onto a dumpster and then disappear straight up the brick wall of a building. But that was shortly before he passed out through pain.

.

* * *

.

Foggy rushed through the damp streets. He screeched to a halt outside Matt's building before dashing up the fire escape. He panted in desperate air as he reached the right floor. Sidling over the railings, he went to the window and tapped on it as loud as he could.

"Matt!" he urged, in a perverse attempt not to be heard. "Matt! Are you home?"

Something moved inside. He stepped back from the window and it slid up. Claire stuck her head out. "Foggy? What are you doing up here?"

"Can I come in?"

She moved back and he got his foot over the sill, scrabbling inside and narrowly missing landing on the wooden floor. He closed the window. "Where's Matt?"

"You got me," she sighed. "He came back from the office, told me what was going on, and… you woke me up banging on the window."

"So he's out, right?" he asked. He looked around. "Do you think he takes his phone with him?"

"Why would he take his phone with him?" Claire asked with a yawn. She pushed hair out of her face, then adjusted the hilariously long t-shirt with _Fogwell's Gym_ in the process of fading from its front.

"How does he call you if he needs medical help?" he asked.

"He has a burner phone. I thought you knew that." She folded her arms. "What's wrong, Foggy?"

"I got a call from Mahoney at the precinct. He says Detective Henrickson put together a list of Louis Wendorf's known associates - and one of them still lives in the Kitchen."

"And?"

"And I think it's the driver," he urged. "If we can grab him, get him arrested for beating up Merissa and attacking you, then you're _both_ off the hook."

"Great. So where is he?"

"Apparently he lives out of 31A Garden Apartments."

"That's on 4th and Vine," she said.

"We need to tell Matt."

He threw his hands out in frustration. "And how do we do that? Go out and look for a dude in a red suit?"

She wandered to the sofa and sat. "I don't see we have a choice. It's that or wait here."

He looked at the sofa, with its pile of bedding neatly folded at the end, then at Claire. "He lets you sleep in the bed?"

"No. I beat him up till he surrendered it."

Foggy grinned. "When you say 'beat up', do you mean in like a sexual way or—"

"I'm kidding," she smiled. "He said I could have the bed. He's a gentleman like that."

"He said you could have the bed - but where was _he_ sleeping?" he asked slyly.

She shook her head as she got up. "You want coffee while we wait?"

He waved a hand at her. "No, thank you."

"It's ok - I put all his jars back in the right place," she said with a wicked smile.

He closed his eyes and hissed, before rubbing his face. "Ok, yeah, you got me," he sighed. "I was just so - so—"

"Annoyed?"

" _Pissed!_ " he blurted. "I mean, come on, Claire! He lied! He lied to my face for like _years_ \- and then I find out you knew all about this superhero shit! And you knew way before I did! It's not fair! I knew him first!"

She stopped and turned round to look at him, her hands on her hips. "Do you know how low he was when he came back tonight?"

"What? He was fine when he left the—"

"He was upset he pissed you off, Foggy. He _loves_ you - you're his only family. He talks about you like you're the awesome brother who's a bad influence, or the best friend who keeps him afloat. So believe me - the last thing he ever wants to do is piss you off. But this is a rock and hard place situation - for all of us."

Foggy let himself pout, afraid to meet her eyes. He swallowed an ever so tiny lump in his throat. "I guess I… I didn't think."

She looked at her feet. "Sorry. I didn't mean to whale on you."

He looked at his trainers. "No, it's… I mean… I lost my best friend for a time, there. And then I got him back, but… not like… It can never be the same." He paused. "But you… I've seen the way you look at him, and I've seen the way his head reacts to wherever you're standing, the way he goes a little bit red whenever you talk. I just…" He sighed. "It's not fair. You two should… Do you know how many people in the world don't get a chance like you two have got?"

She turned away deliberately, going around the counter and heading for the kettle. "I need coffee."

"Yeah," he breathed. He rubbed a hand over his face, then went to the blankets on the sofa and began to open them out, throwing them along the seat to arrange them properly. "I'm just going to… close my eyes for a minute. Until he gets back."

She smiled to herself. "Go ahead."

.

* * *

.

Eric Leeson closed the fridge door and opened up his can of beer. He sniffed to himself as he carried it back to his chair, slumping into it and slurping as much alcohol from the open ring as possible.

He picked up the TV remote and clicked away, checking through channels with half an eye on his watch. Something made him pause. The screen flickered away, the shadows cast by the mumbling shapes on the screen making the small living room look alive. His head turned and he looked at the room slowly. Then he leant forward to look back at his kitchenette.

Nothing stirred. The lights changed, the noises from the TV overrode any curiosity in his mind. He turned back to the set and continued to click through the channels.

A sudden and blinding _smack_ to the back of his head sent him out of the chair and his beer can rolling across the floor. As it gushed liquid and fuelled its own momentum on the wooden boards, Eric felt something heavy land on his back. He was pinned to the floorboards. No amount of struggling granted him leeway. He spluttered and coughed in air, trying to put his hands to the floor.

"Eric Leeson?" said a voice from above.

He stopped dead. "No."

"Don't lie to me."

"Screw - _ngghh_ \- screw you," he panted.

The weight shifted in his back. Now it was forcing his ribcage into the floor so hard he struggled to fill it with air. "Let's start with something simple. Your food truck."

"I don't—" He coughed. "I don't - own a - a food truck."

"The food truck Louis Wendorf gave you. You had it parked a few blocks from here. Merissa Lau recognised you. She threatened you. You tried to kill her. A woman intervened."

"I don't know what you're - you're talking about!"

"You still have the scars where she hit you with a wooden chair."

"No, man! I hit my head on—"

The weight lifted off his back - until it slammed back down again. _Hard_. "Your friend Carl sold you out. He says hi, by the way. Well, he would if he could still talk."

"I don't know no Carl—"

"You're starting to piss me off, Eric."

"Like I care. Who the hell are you?"

He was wrenched up and over. As he scrabbled to get up something _whoomf_ 'd into his stomach. He curled up and shouted in pain. His hair was yanked back. He was forced to look up into a shiny surface of dark red.

"This is my city, asshole. You don't deserve to be in it."

Eric opened his mouth. Two hands took a firm hold of his shirt and pulled him up to his feet. He caught his balance, breathing in desperate air. The next second something had tripped him. He stumbled to his right and slammed into the glass of the window.

"Ha!" he cried in vindication. He pushed at the hands and they came free. "You lose, little man! I'm going to kick your ass for getting Louis arrested!"

The figure in dark red simply straightened up. The flickering lights from the TV still minding its own business in the corner sent odd, dangerous looking shadows across the maroon suit. "The truck," it said firmly. "You had the truck that night, right?"

"I don't know what truck you're talking about!" Eric scoffed, his hands going out in a distinct lack of caring.

The figure took a step. Eric flinched backwards. Too late; the man suddenly lurched the five steps across the boards. He launched himself into the air - both feet went into Eric's chest. He was hurled backwards way too fast.

The window splintered with his impact. He shouted in abject fear as he flew through the shattered pane. There was the tiniest moment of floating - and then he simply plummeted.

The figure rolled to his feet on the boards. He walked to the window and stood in the empty frame.

A nasty _crash_ reverberated around the alley underneath the window. Eric groaned and opened his eyes, surprised he even had the capacity.

That's when he realised he was lying on his back, looking up at the man filling the window frame. —And that he was sprawled on the roof of a large vehicle.

" _That_ truck," Daredevil said. And then he leapt straight at the panicked form of Eric Leeson.

.


	9. Tag Teams

**NINE**

 **Tag Teams**

.

Mahoney yawned and rubbed an eye. He looked at his coffee mug, long since cold and empty, and thought about the vending machine full of snacks just down the corridor. Shaking his head, he looked out at the empty police station reception, then closed the bookings journal and picked up his mug.

A bang and a shout made him slam the mug down and put his hand to his gun on his hip. He came out from behind the counter and headed to the front doors. A push and a cautious poke of his head round the doorway and he had spotted someone sitting on the pavement right outside.

"Well… I'll be damned," he muttered. He pushed the door open and walked outside. The night air was cool and dank, and it certainly countered the sudden attack of heated nerves as Mahoney circled the man on the stones, one hand still over the gun in its holster. "What the hell…?"

Eric Leeson, one ear bleeding, his lip split in a few thousand places, both eyes starting to puff and turn an unhealthy colour, was slumped on his backside. His wrists were bound together with what looked like duct tape and his head was attempting to stay upright. He wet his lips carefully and squinted at the police officer currently staring at him. "Thank god - you gotta arrest me, man," he grunted.

Mahoney crouched a safe distance away to study him. "Mmm-hmm. And why's that?"

"I beat on that girl - Emma Leung. When that woman got in the way, I tried to kill her, too," he coughed. He raised his hands but only to wipe at blood from his mouth. "Then when the Leung girl came to my place I shot her."

Mahoney nodded. "Is that right," he said scathingly.

"Just arrest me. C'mon, do it."

"You're just turning yourself in?"

"Does it _look like_ I got a choice in this?" he shouted roughly. Mahoney took a judicious shuffle back. Eric sniffed blood. "If I don't get locked up for this _he'll_ find me, man! Next time he'll kill me!"

"Who 'he'?" Mahoney asked.

"The daredevil! The thug terrorising this city!"

Mahoney smiled. He pushed on his knees to get to his feet, then produced handcuffs from his belt. "Well, well, well. Don't that just beat all."

.

* * *

.

The window jiggled in its frame before it edged silently upwards. Not a thing in the apartment was reason for attention, save Foggy's steady snoring and the tiny, almost indiscernible creaks from the main bed in the other room.

A foot came over the window sill, and then the other one. A figure in dark red slewed in through the gap and then turned. When still nothing moved for a whole minute, it turned and closed the window. It was latched and locked off, and then the hands drew back. They went up and loosened the cowl of the helmet-like covering. Pulling it up and widening the neck, they kept on pulling back until it peeled straight up and off.

Matt turned and stole to the side of the sofa, the cowl in his hands. His head went left, to listen to Foggy's happy noises of complete relaxation, then straight ahead to assess the slow, easy heartbeat coming from the bedroom.

He smiled, putting his hand out to check the whereabouts of the coffee table. His other hand deposited the cowl in the middle before he undid a seam over his left shoulder, pulling a little bit of extra breathing room in the suit over his chest. And then he went to the large armchair and put his hands to the rests. He let himself down into the soft seat without a single sound.

He relaxed back into the chair as if it were made of all the feathers in the world. Letting out a contented sigh, he undid the fittings on his left glove and pulled it off, then the other. He dropped them over the side, waited for his legs to stretch out across the rug, and realised his head was tipping backwards.

Finding himself suddenly, comfortably and in all other ways completely powerless to stop it, he felt sleep claim him.

.

* * *

.

Merissa pushed a hand into the brace across her chest as she walked down the corridor. "And you're sure this is cool?" she asked for perhaps the sixth time.

Karen carried her rucksack next to her. "I keep telling you, Merissa - you can stay at mine as long as you want. I'll be at work all day _every_ day anyway."

"If you say so," she sighed. "Ow."

"Stop worrying. You'll make it worse. The doctor said not to move too fast, either."

"I promise I won't do anything but watch your TV," she grumped.

"You could do one thing for me," Karen said quietly.

"What's that?"

"That Daredevil - tell me what happened. You said he came through your window."

"He did. Smashed the shit out of it, man. It was awesome!" she grinned. "Glass flying everywhere - and then he grabs my dad round the neck and does like a choke hold on him. It was badass."

"I'm sure it was," Karen smiled, pushing hair behind her ear. "What was he like?"

"He's ok," Merissa shrugged. "Pretty cool when he's not talking. Otherwise he tries to lecture you on stuff."

"Really," Karen scoffed. "I can't believe that. He just seems… like the quiet type. You know, one word answers and mysterious eyes."

"I'll tell him you said that," Merissa grinned. Karen pushed at her shoulder. "Ow! Hey, I got shot!" Merissa protested, only serving to make them both grin. They walked on, past the reception and toward the front doors.

"Come on," Karen said. "Pizza and TV."

"Heaven."

.

* * *

.

Claire opened her eyes and rolled onto her back. She pulled herself up and forced herself to get out of bed. Padding through the apartment to the kitchenette, she noticed Foggy still snoring on the couch. She smiled before her eyes swept left in their sockets and she realised Matt was in his armchair, still out for the count.

Shaking her head, she went on to the kitchen and began the whole coffee-making process as quietly as possible. A tiny noise interrupted her and she looked up to see Foggy stumbling toward her.

"Hey," he whispered. She raised her eyebrows at him. He pointed at the coffee and nodded. She went to get another mug, but paused as she realised he was chucking a thumb over his shoulder. "He always do that?" he asked.

She looked across the room. Matt was exactly as he had fallen the night before, his head tipped against the backrest of the chair, his hands on the arms, his feet splayed out straight. She went to the kettle and filled it with water. "The night can't have been that rough - he's not dripping or lying on the floor," she whispered flippantly.

"Where do you think he's been?" he whispered.

She lit the gas on the stove. "No idea."

"What time is it?"

Claire turned and looked at him. "Check your phone."

He pulled it from his pocket and pressed at the buttons. "Shit. It's nearly eight thirty. I've got to get home and shower, get to the office."

"Coffee first," she whispered.

He smiled and together they waited for the kettle to heat. Foggy yawned a few times, scrubbing his hands through his hair and over his face. Finally the kettle was on the border of whistling. She lined up two mugs and turned to the fridge.

She shrieked as she jumped in her skin. "Matt!" she shouted. "Don't do that!"

Foggy had already near-wet himself in fright before he managed to look round.

Matt was at the fridge, his hand on the bar, about to pull open the door. "Do what?" he asked innocently.

"You scared _the shit_ out of me!" she hurled, walking up and slapping at the back of his shoulder. "You could make some noise or something! Don't just ninja about like that!"

He smiled as he pulled a plastic jug of milk from the inside door pocket. "What, you two sighted people missed a guy in a red suit walking across the entire apartment?"

Foggy ran his hands through his hair. "Not funny, Matt."

"It was the way I _saw_ it," he grinned. He turned and held the jug out.

Claire walked up to him and took it with a scowl, turning back to the mugs on the counter. "I suppose you want coffee too?"

"I'd settle for a shower," he admitted, closing the fridge door and putting his hands to the counter. He leant his elbows on them and yawned. "Not that I don't want you here, Foggy - but why _have_ you been here all night?"

"Oh! Right!" he grinned. "Get this - we think we know who the driver was."

Matt opened his mouth.

Foggy ploughed on: "Wait - Mahoney called me at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night and told me about Detective Henrickson."

"Uhm, Foggy—"

"No, wait - listen," he urged. "As part of their investigation, her and her partner have made a list of Louis Wendorf's known associates. One of the guys still lives right here in the Kitchen."

"Yeah," Matt interrupted. "I've spoken—"

"So I got out of bed at stupid o'clock and came right over here to tell you," Foggy gabbled. "But you weren't here - you were out on the tiles, kicking the shit out of people." He paused. Matt's mouth shut with an air of finality. Foggy's face crumbled. "Ohhhh… Wait a minute."

"Uh, ye-ah," Matt said slowly. "This guy's name you found…"

"No!" Foggy cried. "It's not fair!" He dragged his hands over his face. "Don't tell me you've already found this guy and beaten him to a pulp!"

"What's his name?" Matt asked.

"Eric Leeson." Foggy waited, his eyes hanging on Matt's expression.

It turned apologetic to the extreme. "He's at the police station."

"You _bastard!_ " Foggy cried. "You couldn't let me have one little—"

"Foggy, wait," Matt said. "I got his name from another driver. I went and found him - and dumped him at the police station. Mahoney found him and arrested him." He paused. "Looks like we're done."

"Wait - how do you know he's going to say anything?" Claire put in. "He'll probably lie about everything once he's questioned." She reached out and set a mug of coffee in front of Foggy, before turning back with another one. Her hand went over Matt's as she pressed a mug into his fingers.

"He was in a particularly talkative mood when I dropped him off at the precinct," he said. Claire turned back to her own cup.

"So that's it?" Foggy asked. "He confesses, he tells everyone about what happened with him and Father of the Year Louis Wendorf, and we can all stop worrying about Merissa?"

"Pretty much," Matt said.

"So… we have to file for a dismissal of Claire's case. And Merissa's." Foggy sipped at his coffee. "This might be officially over by tomorrow morning."

"Depends how long it takes them to put wheels in motion," Matt said.

Foggy grinned. "Yay! We can all go back to normal!"

"Yeah," Claire said, with distinct deflation.

Foggy frowned at her. "What? Don't you want this case to be over? All charges against you dropped?"

"What? Yeah, of course," she smiled. She picked up her coffee and most of her face was obscured by the way she tipped it up.

"Well I'll be glad when we get this wrapped up. We might even get a finder's fee for Wendorf." He drained his coffee mug and plonked it down on the counter. "And on that note, I'm going to the office."

"To start paperwork?" Matt asked hopefully.

"No, man! To measure the place up for a coffee machine." He grinned and headed for the front door to the flat. "You crazy kids have fun! Matt - get your ass out of that suit and into a lawyer costume. The world needs you to pretend you passed the bar exam, buddy." He swung the door open and disappeared.

Claire put down her mug. "So I can go home tonight?" she asked quietly.

"You can."

She waited, but all Matt did was turn away to the counter and put his hands on the surface.

"I should pick up around here, take your sheets down to the laundry and… things," she offered.

"No, it's fine. You should, uh… get home."

She bit her lip. "That's it?"

His head tilted. "What else is there?"

She walked up behind him but kept her arms folded. "This is it. Ok, I get it. See you later, Mr Murdock, attorney at law," she said softly. "Please thank everyone at your firm for their help. I do appreciate it, even if you didn't have to do much lawyering on my behalf."

"Claire, I…" He huffed. "Our door is always open."

"At Nelson and Murdock."

"As you say," he allowed, his voice nearly a whisper.

She lifted a hand, about to reach for his shoulder. But instead she turned it to rub her closed fist against her lips slowly. "You know where I'll be if you need anything." She made her hands drop and walked past him to the end of the counter. She headed for the couch.

" _Thank_ you, Claire."

She stopped dead. She turned resolutely and faced him. She walked back up to the opposite side of the counter and put her hands to the top. "For _what_ , Matt?"

"For not making this harder than it already is."

She cleared her throat. "You don't look like you care one way or the other."

"This is my unhappy face," he said softly, his head tilting down toward the counter top. "If you don't leave soon I don't know if…" He cleared his throat and his head came back up, his glassy stare just missing her shoulder. "Well."

She backed away. "I'll just… have a shower. If that's ok. Then I'll be gone."

"Fine," he said shortly.

"Ok." She turned and sped into the bathroom.

He waited until the door was closed and the shower was going full blast.

 _Then_ he hurled his coffee mug at the sink, relishing the noise of the smash and the tinkle of falling pieces.

.

* * *

.

Karen walked around the meeting table, opening up her laptop on the same side as Foggy's. "Here, look. Louis Wendorf's entire rap sheet."

Foggy leant over and began to read, his lips moving silently. "Shit. What a dick."

"Yeah," she scoffed. "And then we have Eric Leeson - the guy Henrickson dug up and the one this Daredevil guy left on the police station steps in the early hours of this morning."

"Yeah - imagine her and Daredevil coming to same conclusion at the same time," he mused.

She smiled. "Do you think they're working together?"

"No. But you have to admit, it's pretty weird that honest police work and vigilanteism both came up with the same guy."

"Must be right," she shrugged.

"So how do these two assholes know each other?"

"Louis Wendorf and Eric Leeson were small-time thugs working _waaay_ down in Fisk's organisation. I don't think they even knew how small they were - they went unnoticed by everyone when the shit hit the fan. It was only because Wendorf was arrested for the suspected murder of his wife, Jenny Lau, that he offered to flip on Fisk."

"He offered?" he asked. "He must have been desperate."

"He friggin' _should_ ," she snapped. "There was so much evidence on him he was going to die in prison for what he did to Merissa's mother."

Foggy leant back in his chair and watched her side-on. "You feel pretty strongly about all this, don't you?"

"Yes I do. He killed Merissa's mother and then he tried to kill _her_. He should have been drop-kicked from the window of that hospital, not just choked out for the police to find."

"Oh- _kay_ ," he said lightly. "So… Eric Leeson?"

"Right, yeah," she said quickly. "Uhm… so he and Wendorf were good friends, and Wendorf gets arrested. Leeson was seen around his place while he was away, but nothing solid. When the police went to his apartment to check his claims that he was somehow important to Fisk and their case, they found notes, money, evidence of his involvement."

Foggy wagged a finger at her. "But you're not buying it."

"No. He's a nobody - I'm guessing he lied about how high up he was to make sure he got off a murder charge. Bastard."

"Yeah," he muttered.

"I think Leeson planted stuff for him there to make it look convincing - he was Wendorf's only contact listed when he was arrested."

"So… In return for his help, Wendorf gave him the food truck?" Foggy hazarded.

"My thoughts exactly," she said. "It was a good cover - make it look like it needed repairs, like they weren't paid for, and then just never pick it up. Leeson could claim he took it against money owed. Everything above board."

"Assholes," he sighed, shaking his head. "So he gets out and either lays low or leaves New York. Then one night Leeson is selling food and Merissa happens to see him. She recognises him and they get into a fight."

"I'm thinking she threatened him - maybe said she was going to the police about her father never really working for Fisk," Karen nodded.

"That's it," he said, folding his arms. "We're done. Case closed. Karen Page, who eats Sherlock Holmes for breakfast, has it all sewn up."

She giggled. "Foggy."

"No, I'm serious. When Matt gets here he's going to give you a raise."

She laughed and pushed at his shoulder. "No, he'll ask to see the proof and we'll say 'uh… no, we don't have any'."

"Well shit," he sighed theatrically. "I knew there was a flaw in our plan."

She looked at her watch. "It's nearly ten. Where _is_ Matt, anyway?"

"He'll be along." He got up from his chair. "I think he was seeing Claire back to her flat with all her stuff."

"Oh. Yeah," she managed, her smile dying. She looked back at her laptop. "She must be pretty happy now she can stop thinking someone's after her."

Foggy picked up their coffee mugs and went for the door. "It must be a weight off. More coffee?"

"Oh Foggy no - not out of that awful filter thing. It _must_ be busted - it makes everything taste like shit."

"True story," he nodded. "How about I go down and get us some _real_ coffee."

"This is getting ridiculous," she said, coming out to follow him to her desk, and the petty cash tin. "It's cheaper just to _buy_ a machine!"

The front door opened and Matt shuffled in, his cane clenched in his fist. "Are we debating coffee _again?_ " he asked quietly.

Foggy threw his arms out in mock despair. "Well if you'd actually do some trying of cases instead of rattling around that lightsaber with its bulb gone maybe we'd have _money_ to spend on a machine so we wouldn't _have_ to debate coffee!"

Matt's chin lifted for a second. His lips twitched and then he nodded. Karen and Foggy watched, non-plussed, as Matt walked straight toward his office, his hand trailing against the wall. Foggy felt a light smack to his arm and turned. Karen was glaring at him. She jerked her chin toward Matt's door, and then pushed him toward it.

He lifted his hands again, this time in mystification. She pushed at him again. Foggy sighed and walked to the doorway. He knocked and hesitated on the threshold. "Hey, uh… You ok, buddy?" he asked, with all the hesitant hope in the world.

Matt was already sat at his desk, pulling open the flap on his briefcase and pulling out his Braille display. He paused and his head swung to face the doorway. "I'll start the filing for dismissal based on new witnesses," he said.

"Oh. Yeah. Ok." Foggy looked back at Karen. She frowned so hard he feared her forehead would leap off her face and beat him up. She flapped her hands at him in a shooing gesture. He turned back to Matt. "So… What do you want? Latte? Caramel frapuccino iced Turkish brain-blaster?"

Matt appeared to consider. "Just… coffee. Plain, normal, average coffee."

Foggy pointed at him suddenly. "Yes! Right! Plain, normal, average coffee! Got it!" He turned and sped out of the office, the door closing noisily behind him.

Karen shuffled papers on her desk. She moved her phone a few inches to the left. She took her laptop from other room and put it back on her own work surface. She plugged in the external monitor and stood back. She folded her arms, bit her thumb nail, and let her eyes go to Matt's open door. Finally she went to his door and knocked gently. When she looked in, he was pulling his case off the desk with lethargy. She straightened her back. "Hey. Uh… if you want I can type something up for you. Just record it as normal and I'll set it out for court."

He paused and looked up. "Thanks."

"Sure." She went to walk away.

"Karen?"

She stopped and poked her head back round the doorjamb. "Yes?"

"Thanks. For putting my reports on the left of the desk."

"No problem." She waited but he appeared busy, arranging his display and folders on the table. She went back to her desk. "Oh - Foggy has this whole thing figured out," she called. "How Wendorf and Leeson were connected and why."

"I think it was more like the two of you working it out," he called back. "—Or just you."

She smiled. "Well I have to have something to occupy me at work."

"What did you come up with?"

"Wendorf gave the truck to Leeson as payment for making his delusions of grandeur look like hard fact to the police," she said. "Merissa recognised Leeson; maybe she told him she was going to spill about her father. It all went from there. I guess Leeson clears up all Wendorf's messes."

"Sound theory."

"Thanks." She sat down and pulled her chair in.

Quiet minutes sloped by to the soundtrack of Matt speaking quietly to the dictation software on his laptop. Karen tilted her head, trying not to listen but unable to block out the soft tones completely. She wandered through the morning news, and then notices of births, deaths and take-overs. Eventually she looked up and found it nearly eleven.

The door rattled open and Foggy ploughed in, three coffees in a totem between his arched hands. "Hey!"

"Foggy you've been ages," Karen said. "We thought you'd been mugged and dumped in a gutter somewhere."

"Daredevil would have saved me," he said cheekily. "Here." He set the tower of caffeine down and handed the top one to her. "Mocha."

"Thanks," she said gratefully.

He left the middle cup on the desk and carried the last one into Matt's office. "Ta-da! Here we go, buddy! Just for you! I had to go like five blocks to find someone who'd make this."

"Dare I ask what it is?" Matt asked, but even the slight smile could not cover the resignation.

"Taste it," Foggy grinned.

"If this is chilli chocolate again I will use my 'lightsaber with its bulb gone' on your head."

"Dude, trust me!"

Matt sighed. He put his hand out.

Foggy placed the cup into it carefully. "I pulled the little tab thing out. It's hot, remember."

"Like I can't feel that through the cup," he muttered. He put it on the desk and lifted the lid. Steam and a strange smell wafted up past his face. "Smells… fruity."

"Don't ruin it!" Foggy grumped. "Jut _try_ it."

He lifted it and sipped the very edge. His face went blank for a full three seconds.

Foggy clasped his hands together, holding his breath.

Matt's head sank but he was grinning, unable to stop the absurdity shaking every last miserable flake of unhappiness from his shoulders. "Is this avocado?"

" _Yes!_ " Foggy shouted, his fists clenched in victory. "Do you like it?"

"You can't make coffee with fruit, Foggy," he chuckled.

"No - you can, Matt! Orange! You can get orange-pecan-whatever-the-latte, right?"

"He's right!" Karen called from her desk. "And spiced pumpkin!"

"Thank you!" he called back.

"But _avocado_ ," Matt laughed.

"They do crazy ones down on 54th," Karen called. "They even have tabasco and tomato."

"Tomato isn't a fruit," Foggy scoffed.

"Tomato _is_ a fruit," Matt said, still laughing.

"Tomato is _barely_ a fruit," Foggy shot back. "But that goes to show you _can_ have fruit coffee. Now drink it and be uplifted. It's all for you, buddy."

Matt took off his glasses and left them on the desk, wiping a hand over his face. "Thanks, Foggy. Really."

"No problem," he said, his grin falling. He turned and left the office quickly. Catching sight of Karen sniffing her coffee suspiciously, he swept his up and went on toward his office.

"Oh, and while you guys were still on your way here this morning a guy called about legal representation," Karen called after him. "Something about—."

The phone rang and she paused. She reached out and picked up the receiver.

"Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law," she said with a smile. "Yes. Yes, that's me. Oh. Really? When? Ok, thanks for letting us know. Yes. Yes we will. Thank you." She put the phone down.

Foggy came out of his door, looking across the reception area. "What was that all about?"

Karen looked up at him, then at Matt as he appeared in his own doorway. She frowned. "That was the court. Wendorf has already been bailed. He was let out like five minutes ago."

"Already?" Matt asked. "He hasn't even seen the inside of a court room yet."

"They said his lawyer has had him bailed out on his previous order," she said. "Can they do that?"

Matt's shoulder sank. "If it still stood, maybe. And seeing as he didn't flee the last time, and even volunteered information in a high-profile case… maybe they granted him special leniency."

"For Christ's sake," Karen spat. "What do you have to do to get people put away these days?"

Matt put his free hand out for calm. "We'll deal with it, Karen. He'll get a life sentence when we're through with him."

"We?" Foggy asked. "We were only in this to get him arrested to get off both our clients, right?"

"Do you really think Merissa will want him to walk free?" Matt asked.

"Merissa!" Karen gasped. "I'll call her. She needs to know he's walking the streets like he's innocent." She picked up the phone and dialled.

Matt sipped his coffee as Foggy shook his head. "You know, I was all for doing this the proper way, like you always say," he sighed. "But now… He tried to _kill_ her and some bastard has bailed him out. Who the hell would do that?"

Matt shrugged. "My first guess would be Eric Leeson, but he's in custody."

"Then who?" Foggy asked. "His lawyer couldn't have done it, could he? I mean, that would have been a load of money to get _him_ out."

Karen cut the call. She pressed the redial button and put the phone back to her ear.

"He must have other friends in the Kitchen," Matt said. He took another mouthful of coffee. "Someone we don't know about."

"Well this sucks," Foggy announced. "It could be anyone."

"Come on, come on," Karen urged. Foggy looked at her. "Come _on_ , Merissa. Pick up."

"She isn't there?" Matt asked.

"I told her to stay _inside_ my apartment," she blurted. "What if Wendorf has gone straight there? What if he's going there to _kill_ her?"

Matt pointed toward Foggy. "Call the police. Get them to Karen's apartment." He looked at Karen. "Keep trying. Did she ever have a cell?"

"No," she said, pressing to redial.

Foggy ran into his office and picked up his phone. His voice chattered away until it stopped dead. He raced back out of the office. "Guys!" he called. "I don't think Wendorf has gone there to kill her!"

"What are you talking about?" Karen demanded.

"I just called Mahoney. He says _Merissa_ bailed Wendorf out!"

Matt groaned and slapped a hand into his forehead.

Karen and Foggy looked at each other, wide-eyed, as realisation dawned.

And then all three of them voiced their self-kickery at the same time with a single word that still managed to sum up the week so far.

" _Shit_."

.


	10. Knock-Out

**TEN**

 **Knock-Out**

.

The room was dark. The muffled sound of a clock tick-tocked away somewhere in the small living room. The couch, covered in carefully folded-up blankets, watched everything with disquiet. Something to do with the way the young woman sat in the far chair with her feet solidly planted on the floor and her hands on the rests made it uneasy. It could have been the gloom caused by the heavy, closed curtains. It could have been the tinge to the shadows caused by the odd skein of sunlight reflected in through a gap in those thick curtains. It could have been the way she sat, completely still, her gaze never wavering from her study of the front door.

Or it could have been the Glock handgun lying on the armrest by the fingers of her right hand.

She sat.

She waited.

And then, as tools were heard scraping and manipulating the tumblers in the door lock, she smiled.

.

* * *

.

Foggy and Karen ran to the street, Foggy with his phone to his ear. Matt was hurrying out of the front door to Nelson and Murdock when Karen turned and bolstered him to a stop. "Wait - I should stay here," she realised. "Someone needs to man the phone."

"What?"

"What if she calls?" she asked. "I should stay here."

"No," he said quickly. "You go with Foggy. I'll stay by the phone."

"Sure? I could come up—"

"It's better if you both go," he said. His hands went to her arms and turned her round. "I'll just get in your way."

"That's _not_ what I meant," she protested.

"I know, but it's what _I_ meant," he shot back. "Go, Karen. I'll call you if she calls _here_."

She turned to the kerb as a bright yellow taxi stopped in front of Foggy. He was waving her over. "Cab! Come on!"

She ran over; Foggy opened the door and they barrelled inside. Karen looked up to see Matt putting a hand behind him to locate the sign for their firm. Then the taxi pulled away into the traffic.

Matt focused on the one engine as it melted into the ocean of traffic noise beneath it. He counted to ten.

 _Then_ he pulled his phone free and pressed a button to wake it up. He lifted it. "Call Latifah," he ordered. The line rang and rang, and then suddenly it clicked.

"Hey! This is my own number, and I'm on my day off, so you better have a damn good reason for ringin' it," came an angry voice.

"Latifah? It's Matt Murdock - the lawyer from a few days ago."

"Weeeell, Mr Murdock!" she cried, a definite smile in her voice. "About time you called me, sugar. You want something? If it ain't me I'll take it personal."

He resisted a smile. "How fast can you get me from the church to two different apartments?"

"Shit - I'll be there in five," she scoffed. "Where you gonna be, honey?"

"Running down the road toward the church," he admitted.

"Running? Dude you can't even see - I don't want to have to peel you off a lamppost when I get there!"

"Just meet me at there," he said. "How long?"

"Five minutes."

" _Your_ five minutes or _actual_ five minutes?"

"A New York five minutes. Be there, Mr Murdock." The line clicked and went dead.

He pocketed the phone. He swung his cane out and tap-tapped his way down the street until he came to an alley way. And then he broke into a run. He pounded down the hidden thoroughfare until a dumpster aided his scrabble to the roof.

.

* * *

.

The apartment door swung open. It squeaked, either in protest or worry. It bumped softly into the wall behind to stand wide open.

A boot came over the threshold. The other one joined it. And then Louis Wendorf put his hand out and pulled the door closed behind him. He put his lock-picking tools into his pocket and peered into the gloom of the kitchenette. His head went right and he caught sight of a long sofa with its back to him.

He moved silently across the carpet. A flicker of some light shone from the edge of the large curtains to his right. His eyes slid over and watched the lights die. He lifted his foot; he heard a tiny noise.

And then came the unmistakeable sound of a gun being cocked. He froze.

"Hi Dad. So nice to finally have the chance to chat with you."

He looked around in the direction of the voice. "Son of a bitch," he marvelled.

Merissa, her hand out to keep the gun pointed squarely at his chest, rose to her feet. "You mean _daughter of a bastard_."

"Holy hell, girl! They told me it was _you_ that bailed me out. I came to say thank you," he said, a wide, sleazy grin over his face. "So come on over here and I'll show you how thankful I am."

Her eyes were as cold as the barrel of the gun staring at him. "Oh, I think we're way past that. I think we're round about up to the part where I shoot you, and as you bleed to death, I get to beat the last few minutes of your life out of you."

He put his arms out in surrender. "Darlin'! You don't mean that! Come on now, put that thing down before you hurt yourself." He took a step toward her.

"I could shoot you in the foot first. You've got another one."

He stopped. His face lost its glossy smile. "You're starting to make me angry," he said slowly. "And you know what happens when I get angry."

"You know what happens when _I_ get angry?" she said, her voice like ice. "You think you do but you don't. You think you're intimidating. You think you can just shout and hit me, and you'll make me cower in the corner like Mom did." She shook her head. "You can't be afraid when you've got nothing left. You took _everything_ from me, all through my life," she snapped. "I'm not even talking about killing my mom. I'm talking about how you took her from me since I was eight, when I first saw you hit her. How it changed her, how it made the world sad, and dark, and ugly. You took the world from me, Dad. You made it evil. You turned this whole universe into a horrible place to be. You ruined _everything_ ," she spat. "I hated when the sun was shining - that was reason for you to get angry about the heat and beat on her. I hated when it was cold - you got upset with the boiler and you hit her with your tools. I dreaded when it was daylight and I dreaded when it was dark." She took a deep breath. "I'd see other kids happy with their lives and wonder how they put up with their dads whaling on their moms like that. And then one day I realised: people _didn't_. It wasn't how fathers and husbands were supposed to behave. It wasn't how _people_ were supposed to behave. Because the only people who are supposed to get hit are the people who think they have the right to do it to others." She half-smiled. "I have this friend who's very good at hitting others. Not because he thinks he has the right, like you do." She raised the gun. "But because he can't let people like you keep doing it. And neither can I."

A shadow struck the gap in the curtains for the blink of an eye. Louis made it two steps toward Merissa. She leapt back one and had the gun just three feet from his nose.

"Do it," she hissed. "And I promise you, you _will_ bleed out with me watching and _laughing_."

The window shuffled upwards. Merissa and Louis stared each other out. Soft footfalls hit the carpet and then Louis looked over.

"What the hell do we have here? I didn't know New York did Mardi Gras," he grinned in derision.

A figure in a dark red put his gloved hand out to Merissa. "Don't shoot him."

"Give me a good reason," she hissed, not looking away from Louis.

"Do you want him to spend the rest of his life sharing a prison cell?"

"Not good enough." Her finger began to squeeze. Louis put his hands up in surrender and backed away one.

"Wait," the figure snapped. "You _know_ he'll get at least twenty-five years for what he did to your mother. There's a witness to him lying about being in Fisk's operation, and conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, as well as perjuring himself under oath, paying off accessories to murder and attempted murder. The prosecution will hold."

"He'll just get off again," she argued. "This is the only way I'll be free of him - of what he did."

"It doesn't work like that. He'll be dead, but you'll have done it. And that will follow you around forever."

"I think I can live with knowing I took him out of this world," she said firmly.

"Wait, now, come on," Louis said desperately. "Don't do this, darlin'."

" _Don't call me that!_ " she raged. "You called Mom that every day and every time I hear it I want to beat you until I hear your friggin' skull _break!_ "

"Merissa," the figure said, his voice nearly a whisper. "You can't shoot him. They'll arrest you."

"You'd stop them though, right?" she asked hopefully.

"I'd argue it was temporary insanity. But I wouldn't stop them," he replied calmly.

She took a deep breath. "Then I shoot him. And then I shoot you in the knee and make a run for it."

"The police are already on their way. And you couldn't shoot me."

"Don't think I wouldn't!" she warned.

"You wouldn't," he said flatly. "Your lawyers would be unable to support you in court if you did."

"Hey, I know some bent lawyers," Louis said quickly. "They could get us _both_ off."

" _Shut up_ ," the other two chorused.

Louis raised his hands higher and clamped his mouth shut.

Merissa dared to glance at the figure before looking back at Wendorf. "Say I _didn't_ shoot him," she havered. "Would you stop me from beating the crap out of him?"

"What do you think?"

She grinned. Then she slipped the hammer down on the gun as she let her arm down. She pushed the safety on with her other thumb.

Louis' hands dropped too. "That's better," he growled, his face flushing. "Now I teach you some manners, girl."

He lurched forward. She did not move. Until she swept the gun round and hammered it into his head. He was thrown to the carpet.

He slapped a hand to his skull. "Aaarrgh! Bitch!"

She whipped the gun back and whacked it across his head again - and again. She stood and swung a boot back to slam it into his ribs. The air whooshed out of him in one loud _oof_. He sprawled onto his back on the floor. Merissa bent as she raised the gun. She plunged it down - and he caught her wrist. He drew back his other fist.

Something grabbed his arm. The next moment he had a boot across his neck and his arm yanked up straight, his hand facing the wrong way.

"Let. Her. Go," breathed something very dark and very angry above him.

His hand released her wrist. She scrabbled back a few steps. She got to her feet. She spied the fallen gun and snatched it up.

When she looked up, she found the figure still with her father in a decidedly one-sided choke position, what with his foot on his neck and his gloves keeping Louis' wrist twisted at its full stretch.

"Well?" the figure said. "Are you done?"

"Yeah," she said. "I think I am." She turned and tossed the gun to the chair far behind her. She watched as the figure let go of Louis' arm.

The older man sat up and righted himself, nursing his shoulder and glaring up at the man in red. "I'll get you, too," he spat.

"I lied," Merissa said. She ran forward and her boot walloped insanely fast between his legs.

He howled. He clutched at his wounded body parts, collapsing to his side as Niagara Falls streamed down his face.

She stepped back, grinning. The figure put his hand out and took her upper arm, walking them both back away, toward the chair.

"That should do it," she said, folding her arms. She turned to the figure but his head went up suddenly, angled toward the window.

"Cops are nearly here," he said quietly. "Have you got this?"

"I can't promise he won't get another shot in the jewels," she shrugged. "But yeah, I've got this."

His hand left her arm. "Seriously, he's had enough. There's only so much he can take before he passes out anyway."

"Screw you!" came a cry born of muffled agony.

The figure walked over to the lump of whimpering and stood over it for a long moment. Then he simply leant down and smashed a fist into Louis' head.

He went suddenly and completely limp. The figure stepped back and turned to the window. He got both hands to the ledge before he paused. "Merissa?"

"Yeah," she said, still watching Louis with suspicious eyes.

"We _will_ talk about why it came to this. Just not right now."

"If you say so. It's a long, sad story that nobody wants to hear," she sighed.

" _I_ do. And so do a couple of other people who care what happens to you." He paused. "Be good."

"Get out of here. The cops are so close even _I_ can hear them."

"Tell them I did this. If anyone but him knows you hurt him it'll damage your testimony at his prosecution."

"Are you advising me to lie, counsellor?"

"I'm not a lawyer right now."

"That's not a no."

There was a pause. "Manitoba is nice this time of year."

Then he hopped over the sill and was gone.

Merissa looked down at Louis. She smiled.

And when the first police officer put her foot around the apartment door, she raised her hands, bent her expression into one of abject fear, and cried for help.

.

* * *

.

Foggy and Karen paced the police station until shouts were heard outside the front doors. They were manoeuvred out of the way to allow a handcuffed Louis Wendorf to be frog-marched round to the detention cells.

Karen grinned and looked at Foggy. "They arrested him!"

"Yeah but he looked pretty cut up," he said. "What do you think happened?"

"Maybe he found her and tried to kill her and she just… fought back," she shrugged.

"She's tiny, Karen."

"Maybe she had a softball bat," she said pointedly.

Foggy cleared his throat and looked at his feet. "Maybe." He looked up again quickly. "I should call the office."

"Right."

He stepped away from the hubbub of officers and detectives clamouring to get down the corridor, everyone eager for a look at the man in handcuffs being attended to by a paramedic. Foggy fished his phone out of his pocket and pressed at the speed dial.

.

* * *

.

Latifah bashed a hand on the horn. She leant her head out of the window. "Go get some driving lessons! What are you, blind?" she hurled. She drew back in and then her eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror. "No offence, Mr Murdock," she chuckled.

"None taken," he said from the back seat.

"So you finish whatever it is you wanted?" she asked. "You was in there like ten minutes. Sure you don't want to stop for a cold one on the way back to that other block?"

"I'm good, Latifah, thanks."

"Suit yourself, man. You work too much. You gotta hang out more." The cab screeched to a halt and she turned to look at him through the glass. "Here's the building, Mr Murdock. You want me to wait here again?"

"Please," he said. "I just have to run this bag upstairs and then I'll be right down - and then I need to get back to the office as fast as you can."

"Then hurry yourself up, dude. I'll be here."

He flew out of the side door, carrying the large duffle with him. Powering up the stairs two at a time, he made it to his door just before he was completely out of breath. "I bet Spider-Man never has this trouble with _his_ suit," he puffed, finding his keys. He opened the door and simply tossed the bag inside. Then he locked the door and raced back down the staircase and outside.

He had his hand on the cab door handle as he heard his cell phone ring. Sliding back into the seat and closing the door, his other hand flipped his phone out of his pocket but fumbled it into the footwell. " _Foggy - Foggy - Foggy_ ," it chirped.

"Alright, I know!" he hissed, exasperated. He swept it up even as the cab rocketed along. He pressed the button and slapped it to his ear. "Yes!"

"Where are you?" Foggy hissed. "Me and Karen are at the station and Louis Wendorf has just been brought in. Karen says we should go back _to the office_. You good?"

Matt took the time to grin, letting himself enjoy it. "Yeah, I'm good. I'll be at the office in—"

"Gimme six minutes and change!" Latifah called.

"Did you get that?" he smiled.

"Make it fast, buddy."

"Oh believe me, no-one could get me back faster than Latifah," Matt smiled. "I'll see you there." He cut the call and pushed the phone back in his coat.

"So after this we're good, right?" she asked over her shoulder. "It's just I got my lady coming over tonight and I can't have you calling me and interrupting our evening, know what I mean?"

Matt shook his head. "After this we are well and truly done. And I owe you double, as usual."

"Shit, Mr Murdock. Just keep calling - _not_ on my nights off - and doing all your secret shit and I'll always take the pay and do the route. You just let me know."

He looked out of the window. "How about… I pay you double anyway, and you pretend you didn't drive me anywhere today."

"Hey, it's cool," she grinned. "Lotta folks got places to be and people to see, and I don't see none of it, trust me." She honked the horn. "Pull over, fool!" The cab swung round the corner and she grinned as she ran so close to the kerb the tyres of the car themselves grabbed their skirts and lifted them clear of the dusty gutter. "I love this city, man!"

.


	11. To Fight Another Day

**ELEVEN**

 **To Fight Another Day**

.

"Heyyy! Here we go! At last!" Foggy crowed, laughing and puffing as he and Karen hefted the large cardboard box in through the office door between them.

Matt's head twitched up an inch, listening to the sounds of shuffling and swearing. "What's this?"

"The answer to all our prayers, buddy!" Foggy chuckled. "A coffee machine!"

"You spent company money on a coffee machine?" He pushed himself up from his chair and slid his hand against the wall, guiding him to the doorway. He paused to listen to the two of them moving items about on Karen's desk.

"Damn right I did," Karen said.

"Oh. I thought it was Foggy's idea," Matt said quietly.

"Nope," she said with gusto. "Because we spend entirely too much money - and _time_ \- getting coffee. It's a joke. This is going to save us money in the long run."

"And anyway," Foggy said, "we got a cut of the finder's fee for Wendorf."

"How much of a cut?" Matt asked, surprised.

"Enough to get a machine that can take real fruit bits instead of just extract," Foggy beamed.

Matt smiled. "Well that's the important thing, I guess."

"Shut up - you love fruit coffee, you know you do," Foggy blustered. "Karen - we need to figure out how to plumb it in."

There was a knock on the door and Foggy and Karen spun to look.

"Hey," said a quiet voice.

Matt turned to face the door. He paused and then smiled. "Merissa. How are you feeling?"

"Ok," she said, wandering in. "I mean, my bones still feel like they've been used as friggin' football turf, but other than that, I'm good."

"Well thank God," Karen said. "We were so worried about you."

"You know we have to ask," Foggy said. "Why did _you_ bail Wendorf out?"

Merissa looked from Foggy to Matt. Matt Murdock, attorney at law, said nothing. She sniffed. "Well… Even though I hated him and whatever… He's still my dad. We had unfinished business."

"He could have killed you," Karen grumped. "What were you thinking?"

"Ye-ah… My bad," Merissa muttered.

"Well he didn't," Matt announced, "and Merissa and Claire are free of charges, and he's going to be back in prison real soon - for a very long time."

"And we have a coffee machine!" Foggy put in.

Merissa grinned. "Sweet. Do you know how to plug it all in?"

"Do you?" Karen smiled.

"I can try," Merissa said. She went to the box and opened the top flap, looking in. "You know… It's weird. I've been hiding from him like… forever. And now he's going to live the rest of his life in prison… Well…"

"You're wondering what you do next?" Karen finished for her. "You go do whatever it is you want."

"How do I know what I want?" she asked. "I mean… He was my nightmare. Everything was about staying hidden, keeping away from him, lying low. For like… forever. Now he's fixed, I'm kinda… well, lost."

"You need a job," Foggy said. "And maybe somewhere to live. You can't stay with Karen forever."

"Oh I don't know," Karen said. "She's not a bad house guest. And she knows Daredevil."

"Merissa," Matt said softly. "What did you mean about… hiding from him?"

She went around Karen's desk and sat down in the chair, leaning back and getting comfortable. "You got your tape recorder?" she asked, bravado not the least of her demeanour. "This might take some time."

"We don't need this for court," Matt said. "You're among friends. Just… let it out."

Merissa looked up at him, her face going slightly red. She cleared her throat as if hoping it would give her voice strength. "Ok, Four Eyes," she managed. "Have it your way."

Karen and Foggy shared a glance; he went to the makeshift kitchenette and produced a tall glass of water. He put it on the desk in front of Merissa. She raised her eyebrows at it, and then him.

"Thanks," she said, unsure. She turned to position herself so that Matt was in her line of sight. "So… he used to beat my mom. But you all knew that." She sniffed. "He beat me a lot, too. I kind of got used to it. Then one night he comes home and he hadn't even been drinking. He just started on her - beating and beating." She paused. "There was a lot of screaming - me, her, even him. Then it all went really quiet - like the quiet when you just _know_ something has gone very wrong. And when I expected him to go 'whoops, what have I done', he just stood over her and sighed, like he could finally relax. He went crazy, telling the _house_ that he was finally free of her, that he'd put up with a foreign woman all this time because of one moment of weakness, whatever that was." She swung the chair to and fro a tiny way, looking at the glass on the desk. "And then he came for me."

"But you got away, right?" Foggy asked, entranced.

"If Daredevil had seen it, even he would have been impressed," she smiled. "I climbed out the window - upstairs - and went down the drainpipe. I ran and ran - and I never stopped." Her smile died. "I realised I couldn't go home. I had no friends I could just walk in on. My school friends were… Well, let's just say their parents didn't let them mix with a kid who came to class with new bruises every Monday." She tilted her head, thinking. "I don't know when it was… I think a few days later. I'd been sleeping in a dumpster for a few nights, not really understanding what had happened to me. Some police officers picked me up - I had no ID. They thought I was deaf and I didn't correct them. I stayed in a few in-between places - a care centre, a juvenile correction place… It wasn't so bad. I mean, people were _nice_ to me. They didn't know my story, they didn't want to make everything better. They just wanted me to play ball games with kids my age, and learn to ride a bike, and other kid things."

"So you enjoyed it?" Karen asked.

"It was ok. But then… I wasn't interested in any of that. They kept asking my name," Merissa smiled. "I lied. I made up a new name every day. I put a whole back story to that person, different each time. They brought in court-appointed social workers and I spun them all kinds of crap. I couldn't tell them my real name - they'd hand me back to my dad."

Foggy folded his arms. "How old were you?"

"Oh… about twelve," she said. "Something like that." She picked up the glass and sipped it. "The funny thing was, when I turned sixteen? I was passing through California, like you do," she said, flashing a grin. "And I saw this ad in the paper - one of those national ones, the expensive type with proper stories on like which Republican needs a pay cut." She smiled. "And it was looking for Merissa Wendorf, of Hell's Kitchen, New York. It was a lawyer firm. Of course I called the number - a lot of people did, I guess. They asked me about my mother - could I give them her date of birth, could I name the place she was born, could I say her Chinese name, did I know her maiden name." He shook her head. "I started laughing - but then, I don't know… I suddenly went on this rant in Chinese about how she was dead and it wasn't fair, and did they know it was my dad who did it and I wanted him dead." She grinned. "The woman on the end of the line was a bit shocked - turned out, she was the only Cantonese speaker in the office and she'd answered the phone out of pure luck."

"So what happened?" Foggy asked.

"They told me to come to them. I said I was out of state - they said to just buy a ticket and come straight over," she scoffed. "Yeah, right. Like I had money. No job, no real name, no place to live and too scared of being found to go back to New York."

"But you did," Matt said quietly. "Because?"

She looked up at him. "Because she told me that my mother, Jennifer Lau, had a life insurance policy and now I was sixteen, it was all mine."

"Whoa… money," Foggy breathed.

"It was a lot," Merissa smiled. "And all I had to do to claim it was prove I was Merissa Wendorf." She shrugged. "Didn't seem like a big thing. But I couldn't do it - I wouldn't use his name. I got there - that's a long, complicated road trip story you do not want to hear. But I spoke to them, I said I was never 'Wendorf', I was Lau, and always was."

Karen frowned. "So they turned you down?"

"Hardly," Merissa tutted. "They said it was irrelevant, since Jennifer Lau never changed her name to Wendorf after she married. So due to a technicality, I got it all."

"How much?" Foggy asked.

Karen turned and thumped a hand into his arm. She turned back to Merissa. "Go on."

"Well why do you think my dear dad wanted to see me?" she asked. "And more importantly, see me dead?"

Foggy snapped his fingers. "If you die, he gets your money?"

"Cigar for the smart man," Merissa winked. "He's been after me for… ooh, about two years, now."

Matt's head turned toward the office door. "We have company."

They all turned to see the door swing open. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," said a blond, imposing woman of impeccable taste in shoes.

Foggy's face went a little red. "Marci?"

"We _do_ have a meeting scheduled, right?" she grinned. She wandered further in and closed the door. "Where do we start?"

"Start?" Foggy asked dumbly.

"Oh, ah - Foggy, Matt, Merissa," Karen announced. "Marci is going to be prosecuting Mr Wendorf on behalf of the state."

A group cry of " _What?_ " went around the office but Marci put her hands up. "It's true. Karen here called me earlier this morning. I have a new position - on performance probation - at Miller and Lee and I need to show that I can pull down a huge sensational case. I think this qualifies. Plus, if I nail this bastard to all the walls I can find and then some, I get more commission. Anyone have a problem with that?"

"I have never been so glad that some days you're all about the money," Foggy grinned.

"Hey - this is about Wendorf dying alone in a cell," she said, her nose wrinkled. "But if I can make money while he's doing that, I don't see the harm."

Matt smiled, his face dipping out of sight, but Merissa laughed. "I think I like you," she grinned. "Do you need me for like witness stuff?"

"You're the daughter, right?" Marci asked, wagging a lazy finger at her, her face tasked.

"That's me."

"Then… I think we need to…" Marci's eyes narrowed. "…Place you in protective custody. Yes, protective custody," she nodded. "Because… you are… afraid for your life while he's not in prison, and as such couldn't possible testify. You'll need to stay in a five star hotel, of course. I know some."

"Sweet," Merissa grinned.

"But you can't appear at the trial," Marci said. "No… You're too traumatised by the memory of what he did. No," she said with a firm shake of the head. "You can't appear. I have enough on him without you having to be dragged back through all the shit."

"Oh, uh… thanks," Merissa said, surprised.

"We have a wish list of things we're going to try him on. Would you like to be named as a consulting firm?" she asked Foggy.

"To Miller and Lee? Yes please," he asked, awed.

"Right then. I'll get papers drawn up," she nodded. She reached into the very expensive handbag on her arm and drew out a smartphone. "Hang on a sec…" She began to type with her thumb, before dropping the item back inside and closing the latch on top. "Right. My assistant will get that done for you. You can expect the papers today."

"Wow," Merissa breathed. "You're like… Karen on speed."

Marci smiled. "I hope that's a compliment. Now, Foggy here is taking me to lunch, and Karen and Merissa have shows to watch." She turned and looked at Matt. "You have… whatever it is you do at home with no TV."

"Sleep," he said with a slight smile.

She grinned. "Right. Ok people, let's move like we have a purpose. Foggy - food. Are we trying the new bar down the street? It looks exciting."

He hurried after her as she headed out of the door and down the hallway, her voice echoing slightly as the two of them disappeared.

Karen and Merissa looked at each other. "I think my dad is _really_ in the shit," Merissa grinned.

Karen giggled. "Looks that way. So. Do you want to finish what we were marathoning on TV the other night?"

"Yeah, I think I do," Merissa said. "And seeing as everyone now knows I have money, I'll get the pizza. I owe you like ten."

"It was two," Karen grinned.

"Whatever," Merissa said airily. "And you, Four Eyes," she said to Matt. "You want to come and crash at Karen's? We're doing _Boardwalk Empire_. We're up to the season where the cute Irish guy keeps trying to hook up with Steve Buscemi's wife."

Matt grinned, one palm up as if to bring the whole world to a stop. "Sounds great, really. But if we're all taking the day off, there's somewhere I do want to be."

"Really?" Karen asked. "Where?"

"I thought I'd go by the church. Father Lantom knows how to put coffee machines together," he smiled.

"Ok then," Karen said. "But if you get bored later, then you know where we'll be."

He listened to them pick up coats and head to the office door. "Thank you, Karen," he called after them.

"No problem!" she called back. They were round the door and out before he could move. The door closed and he sagged back against the doorjamb, blowing out a long sigh.

Then he shook his head, went back for his cane and left all his work on the desk, and the office to itself. He stopped to lock the door, straightening up to put his palm against the window above the wood. The makeshift sign, made of printed paper and a Sharpie, was rough to his fingertips. Nevertheless he ran them over the lines in the paper, tracing the two names slightly embossed. He smiled and headed off down the corridor.

.

* * *

.

Matt opened the flat door and made his way in. Successfully navigating the kitchen counter, he paused when he realised he could sense something else alive, far behind him.

"Oh, ah… hi," Claire said awkwardly. "I was just cleaning out the rest of my stuff."

He turned to face her. "You didn't have any stuff."

She huffed and he distinctly heard the sudden sag of her shoulders and _flump_ of something hitting the sofa. "No, ok, I didn't," she said. "I replaced a load of beer and snacks in your fridge. And I took everything soft from your bedroom down the laundry. It's in a bag on your bed. I was going to make it up for you before I—"

"You don't need to do that."

"No, I…" She sighed. "This is _bullshit_ , Matt!" she heaved. "Why can't my life be simple?"

He felt his feet shuffle all by themselves. "It is. You leave here and we go back to being two random citizens of New York."

"It's that easy, is it?"

"No. But it's what we have to do."

She folded her arms. Her jaw squirrelled to one side as something fired across her brain, over and over. And yet her mouth did not open.

He took off his glasses and left them on the counter top, walking around it to stop a few feet in front of her. "We knew this is what it would be like."

"Don't say that like one of us is dying!" she cried angrily. "Don't just stand there with that face that shows me _nothing_ at all! My God, Matt - you should play poker!"

"Most playing cards are too smooth to feel the picture on the surf—"

"Don't!" she shouted.

His head sank until it appeared for all the world as if he were studying his feet.

She stepped closer and her arms went round his neck. She squeezed, ruffling a hand through his hair. "I swear," she breathed in his ear, "I will never work you out, Matt."

"I'll miss you."

"Wow. Thanks," she scoffed.

"But I won't miss you being a target because of me. So… there's that."

"And I suppose that will just have to balance everything else out, right?"

"Something like that."

"Well I still think this is a load of crap. No-one knows you're this costumed dude at night. What's to stop Claire Temple from seeing Matt Murdock?"

"It won't work that way," he sighed. His arms went round her back and he squeezed slightly. "Lines will blur, things will overlap, and then you'll be stuffed in a refrigerator somewhere because someone wants to get to me. I can't let that happen."

She chuckled suddenly. "Stuffed in a refrigerator? Stop finger-reading comic books."

He smiled. He lifted his head back, pulling his arms free, but she kissed him.

Eventually she let him go, although he didn't exactly make any attempt to distance himself. Instead he put a hand up to her face, running it down the cheek and letting his thumb run along her lower lip.

"Well at least you're smiling again," he managed.

She took his hand from her and stepped free of him. He put his hands in his pockets and she turned to the sofa, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "Well then. Goodbye, Matt Murdock, attorney at law. If I ever need legal representation…"

"You know where our offices are," he nodded.

"What? No - I'm going to Miller and Lee. They have this new woman there and the word is she's going to make one hell of a partner."

He smiled, his head dipping in amusement. "They may very well be right."

She walked past him and to the front door. Her hand went out and captured the doorknob. "Just… be careful, ok? Don't die. Or fall off any roofs."

"At least not while you're on duty," he smiled.

"You shit." She opened the door but paused on the threshold.

"Claire?"

"If you say 'thank you' I will kick your ass, vigilante or not."

"No, I—. Well. Take care. At work."

"I will." She turned to look at him. "Bye."

He turned and waved a palm up. She walked out and closed the door solidly behind her.

He concentrated, and suddenly the sound of her footsteps down the stairs was everything. The faint trace of her perfume was already dissipating, the feeling of life, of warmth, of someone who cared - all of it distanced itself with every ring of every footfall that took her away from his apartment.

A resolute turn had him walking to the bedroom and finding a large plastic bag on his bed. His fingers wrestled with the tie until eventually he simply ripped the top open. He slid his hand inside, over the silk sheets, and something made him smile. He shook his head and turned, his counted steps taking him around the inanimate objects lying in wait to trip him up. He stopped at the kitchen counter only to smooth his palm over the surface, to guide him round the edge to the other side. His hand went for the mug tree against the wall but slammed into something cold and ceramic in its way. A spoon tinkled at the impact and he paused; his fingers went over the cup and the metal spoon already installed, and when he picked it up, a quick sniff confirmed that instant coffee granules were already in the bottom. He smiled and put it down again. But then his smile faded with the certainty of who had set it up for him before she had left.

Suddenly as averse to the coffee as he was to the bed sheets, he turned away and made it back to the armchair. He lowered himself to sit on the arm just as every muscle in his body simply sagged. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sloping in the vain hope that all the unhappiness would simply lose purchase and slip away, but it did no such thing, and for a long time he was simply stuck with the absolute quiet and inaction of an empty flat.

A loud banging on the front door made him jerk in shock. Cursing his lack of attention, he pushed himself up and went to the entrance. His head tilted for a moment and then he fought a smile. "Who is it?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer would be before he began to open the door.

"Hey buddy," Foggy gushed, stepping over the threshold and wandering in. "Just you?"

Matt closed the door and ambled back to the arm of the chair, where he sat as if all the weight of the all the worlds were forcing him down. "How was your lunch?"

"Well Marci is totally driven by Wendorf now - it was all she could talk about over a calzone. I'm pretty sure he's barbecued pork with a side of screwed." He folded his arms as he looked around the apartment.

"What can I do for you, Foggy?"

He looked back at Matt, taking in the way he was not so much sitting but fighting to stay upright. "Well… everyone's got the day off, right?"

"Apparently," Matt allowed.

"So let's go do day-off stuff," he said with a smile. "You know, go down the park and watch the kids getting sandwiches snatched out of their hands by birds and bears and wildlife."

"We don't have bears in the park."

"We _should_. It would keep the rat population down."

"Foggy—"

"Come on, dude. Get your glasses on and let's bounce. Daylight's a-wasting."

Matt smiled but he made no move to get up. "Can we do this another day? I'm really not feeling it right now."

Foggy went to the windows and looked out at the fine afternoon. "Is this because Claire left?"

"Everyone's had a stressful time. I need to catch up on sleep and get this place back to normal."

Foggy shook his head at the window. "This _is_ because Claire left."

"Foggy—"

"Listen, Matt—"

"Really, Foggy, I'd rather just—"

"No, listen." He kept his resolute stare at the window pane. "I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry I went on and on about her being here, like just because I wanted you two crazy kids to get together then it should just go ahead and happen." He shuffled round to scrutinise his friend, who still had his back to him. "But… I just want good things for you, buddy - despite this whole secret ninja thing you deliberately kept from me." He paused. "She could have been a really good thing. That's all." He sniffed. "I won't say another thing about her. Not one."

" _Thank_ you."

"But just so we're clear - does this mean you're not dating _anyone_ for the foreseeable future or just her?"

"Foggy."

"Because there's this woman at the coffee shop who keeps asking me about you and I don't think it's because she doesn't believe I won't drink all three coffees I buy in the morning."

"Karen has one."

"Yeah, see? That's my point - she never asks about Karen or me." He paused as he watched Matt straighten a little, only to sigh and settle again. "Forget it," he said. "Let's just… go for a walk and not talk about anything at all."

"You're not going to let this walk thing go, are you?"

"No. Come on, up and at 'em."

Matt pushed himself up and went toward the kitchen counter. "Then let me find my glasses."

"Alright!" he gushed with enthusiasm.

Matt shook his head as Foggy went to the front door and waited. Matt caught him up via the kitchen counter, and his glasses. He opened the door for him. They went out but Matt paused before closing it behind him. Then he pulled it shut firmly and locked it, turning and following Foggy down the stairwell.

They came out onto the street and Matt felt the sunshine hit his face. He slipped his glasses on and waited, and then Foggy grabbed his elbow and moved off down the street.

The sounds, the smells, the feel of the afternoon wafted over them both. Foggy noticed a woman at the magazine stall and started up a litany of defects with this month's issue of _Coffee Enthusiast_ , while Matt listened, smiled, and let the soul of the city sweep away his problems.

They came to a crossing and Foggy brought them to a stop. "—And Marci's taking this prosecution really seriously. Like, I'm worried she's not going to stop until Wendorf and any accomplices get the electric chair."

"We don't have the electric chair in New York, Foggy," he smiled.

"We will if Marci has her way. You haven't seen her in court, Matt - she'll get it if she wants it."

Something jostled at Matt's empty shoulder, accompanied by a hurried "Sorry!". He tilted his head as he realised he had heard the voice before. It continued just next to him.

"Girls - keep still. We wait here for the walk sign, ok? Don't you cross without me. Ever."

"Yes dad!" came two young voices.

Matt turned his head, concentrated, tried to recall where he had heard the man's voice before.

"Daddy, why does that man have red glasses on? If it's sunny they should be black like yours, right?" came a small voice.

"Don't stare, Elli. He can't see, ok? It's not nice to stare at people who are different. —Toni, what have I just told your sister? Don't stare."

Matt couldn't help but smile. He turned slightly toward the man's voice. "It's ok," he said, hearing a tiny intake of breath that was probably the man being surprised. "I can't tell if people stare or not."

"Sorry, mister. They're just young."

"No problem," he smiled. He put his hand up to stretch across both lenses, pushing his glasses up his nose.

He heard a tiny giggle, a whisper of something, and then an answering giggle. He was about to open his mouth when Foggy pulled on his elbow.

"Here we go, buddy. One step down." He strode off and Matt was pulled behind him.

Elli pulled on her father's hand. "Daddy! Daddy - that was the man in your photo!"

"What?" he asked, holding tight to both small hands as they began to cross the road. "What photo?"

"The photo on your phone! The daredevil man in red! It was him!"

"Honey, that was _not_ him. He wasn't as heavy."

"No - not him, the other man! The man in the glasses!"

"Don't be ridiculous, sweetie - that man couldn't see. It wasn't him."

"It _was_ him, Daddy. I know it was."

"Ok, Elli, whatever you say. Toni? Don't let go of my hand. Come on, we'll be late for your recital."

The two young girls giggled as they hurried along beside their father. He lifted Elli's hand, pulling her up with a chuckle and a theatrical heave, onto the opposite pavement. They carried on down the street, but as they reached the corner, Elli turned and saw the man in the glasses, his head turned toward them. She grinned and put her hand up to wave.

To her surprise, the man waved back.

She gasped and stared, but he turned and was lost in the crowd, guided along by the other, fairer man. Elli pulled on her sister's hand. Their heads went together and they whispered as they hurried on down the street.

Matt smiled to himself as he let Foggy pull him on down the street.

"How about one for the road?" Foggy was saying. "This coffee place says it's got a new menu."

Matt was yanked to his right but he went with it, stumbling up over some kind of stone step. "Ok then," he said with a smile, "choose a coffee for me. Surprise me."

Foggy grinned and strode up to a glass display case of cakes, looking at the woman on the opposite side. "Hi. You make coffee to order, right?"

"Sure do," she smiled. "What'll you have?"

Foggy opened his mouth but it was Matt who spoke: "You ask her to put avocado anywhere near that cup and I'm telling Marci you want her to move into your apartment this afternoon - after she redecorates it."

Foggy's ebullience ran screaming for the hills and he was left only with alarm. "Um… Ok. Just… some kind of save-the-planet roast, please," he said lamely.

The woman grinned and got to work. Matt patted his shoulder, a smug grin on his face. "I'm glad you got me out of the apartment," he announced. "This is fun."

Foggy, wisely, kept his mouth shut.

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 **FIN**

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 _And that's a wrap. Thanks for reading, you reading readers who read! Thank you for all your comments and reviews - they are gold dust. This is all for you - and the one person who threw the Daredevil TV series 1 soundtrack at me and then asked for this in return. How could I not write this after listening to that?_


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